The Alchemist's Atlas
by theps118confessional
Summary: In a kingdom far, far away, Helga is a thief, and may or may not be a witch. Prince Arnold needs her to save his bride to be. Helga knows he doesn't love the girl. He doesn't see why that matters. / a magic/fairytale/a whole bunch of things/au!
1. Chapter 1

_a/n a magical crossover of hey arnold and quite literally every piece of literature with magic in it ever..._

 _there'll be more as it goes on, but please, if you recognize a reference, tell me you noticed it it'll make me very happy_

 _please enjoy, x, k._

* * *

 **PROLOGUE:**

 **PART ONE**

Arnold watched as his friend eyed a large knife in his work shop. It was arguably the largest in the compact space built by his mentor. Gerald kept his eyes on the knife, fiddling with a crudely made leather holster in his hands. Arnold used the knife for butchering, but he could only assume Gerald was not fancying a new profession. He caught his eye with a smirk, "you're mad," Arnold told him, a smirk dancing on his mouth, but gestured generously that the knife was Gerald's. Gerald picked it up, but with an annoyed stare at his friend.

"There's a wolf in these woods, Arnold," Gerald told him seriously, frustration seeping into his comment. Arnold laughed as he stepped out into the open air of the clearing, ruffling his hair back. "Don't laugh at me," Gerald pouted at him, sheathing the knife in his makeshift holder.

It was a lovely, bright day in Arnold's clearing, just set out of the thick wood that their village that contained their village. The sun shone thickly into his hair, it almost hurt his hands to touch. "I've been a shepherd for my entire life," he stepped over to their small stable for their only horse, Abner. He produced a carrot from his pocket, offering it to the contented animal with a pat on its nose, "if there was a wolf in that wood, it'd have come to visit by now." He reached out to untangle the knots in the stud's mane.

"Maybe it's not after your damned sheep!" Gerald insisted, with an annoyed gesture to just beyond the shed, where the woolen creatures filled the clearing.

"A wolf that's not after sheep?" Arnold reached up to the tree that laid just beyond the enclosure, grabbing its fruit. He bit into it, running a fond hand on its leaves. "Sounds like another one of your tales, Gerald." Some of the leaves had a small bramble of dirty and dead tree stuck in it. Arnold removed it gently, then smoothed his hand over the branches once again.

"That's a tree, Arnold, you do realize that, right?"

"All things grow stronger with love."

"And you think I'm crazy for carrying a knife." Gerald huffed, snatching the fruit from his friends hand as he stomped past. He moodily sat under the tree, right at the base of the trunk. It was, at least, a break from the over bearing sun.

Arnold watched him go, then leaned up against the fence of Abner's enclosure.

"I mean, seriously, Arnold, you have to come to the village with me. People are scared."

"People frighten when others encourage it," Arnold warned with a leer.

"People frighten when crops keep getting ripped at the root and the animals won't eat."

"And you think this is the doing of a wolf?"

"What DO YOU think it could be?!"

"I think you're getting hysterical," he held his hand open, indicating he'd like his fruit back. Gerald tossed it to him with a huff.

After a moment, he spoke again. "There's talk of forming a group, going to petition the Queen to station the guard at the edge of the wood. Or at least, send a huntsman."

"The Queen?" Arnold raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. The Queen was not unpopular in their village, but more unheard of. The monarchy in Arnold's lifetime had been inactive at best, peace sustaining between theirs and the neighboring kingdom, keeping taxes low and issues at a minimum. Of course, there had been a little bit of a political fuss when the King only had a daughter, so a Prime Minister had been elected, erecting a small parliament. They oft sent criers to visit the villages. The queen, however, did not. "It's several days journey."

"It might be worth it."

Arnold studied Gerald, the determined set in his brow, the way his hands were tense over his knees and his grey over shirt. "It's your idea, is it then?" Arnold asked finally, folding his arms over his chest. "This is no wolf hunt, this another attempt to join the guard."

Gerald often lamented being the apprentice of the blacksmith. It hadn't been at all what he was expecting, mostly horse shoes and the occasional pot. Very few swords and shields and things, because when peace was sustained, need for them was very low.

That didn't stop Gerald from practicing, though. He spent hours sweeping and stabbing at a sack of hay Arnold had given him years back.

"Gerald, you cannot rile up the entire town over your own pursuits." His own fruitless pursuits, Arnold added in the back of his mind, as the guard wasn't overtly needed in an overwhelmingly peaceful kingdom.

"What do you care about the town?" Gerald was officially irritated with Arnold, standing to his feet, dust rising around his ankles. "You won't come to market...ever."

"Gerald, my grandparents are very o-"

"Old. Yes, Arnold, I know."

Arnold wanted to warn his friend again against exciting the town, but Gerald never had a particular penchant for listening to his advice. So, instead, he grabbed a rod from the shack and asked Gerald if he fancied a trip to the lake.

* * *

She sat on her porch, scuffing already destroyed boots on the rooting wood. She leaned her head on the bannister, exhaustion making even holding her own head upright seem like a task. She fiddled with the ends of her hair, burnt brown, poorly concealed tied into the braid resting on her shoulder. She swiped at the dirt she knew was clogging the pores on her cheek, but she had underestimated the filth on her thumb. She sighed as she put her hands back on her skirt, as she had likely made the problem worse.

She heard her father banging around in their cramped cottage, clambering about the fire. He was exhausted, and quite possibly as filthy as she was.

She pushed around the basket of vegetation by her side, wondering whether or not she felt quite prepared to go inside.

Most women didn't engage in farm work, but she did. She did everything she could to support herself and her father, as her father spent most of his time…well, on a manhunt for the man responsible for the death of her sister. But despite Helga's best efforts, it never seemed to be enough for her father.

She'd never be Olga, at any rate.

She pushed herself on to weary legs, gathering her strength to pick up her basket, and push into her father's home.

* * *

Gerald didn't return for another five days, which was a far cry from his daily visit. Arnold figured he either completely ignored him and went to the Queen, or was just too irritated with him to justify the visit.

He appeared afternoon obviously in a right mood, as Arnold lay up the hill with the flock. Gerald fidgeted without speaking for a moment, then let himself into the sheep enclosure.

"The Queen wasn't there." He called flatly. Gerald clearly did not want to speak more of it, but he continued to talk without prompting. "She'll be back soon...she's throwing a festival, I think. That Prime Minister bloke is a nightmare."

Arnold squinted at him, and attempted to push his flock away from the growing patch of mud they seemed so fond of standing in a circle in to feed. It made shearing a disaster.

"Something else is bothering you," Arnold noted without looking up from the herd, gently gesturing with his staff. Gerald stayed down the hill, embarrassed of his own actions, for whatever reason. Arnold could tell by the uncomfortable shifting that the conversation was not yet over.

"While I was away, they found footsteps leading away from the destroyed crops."

"Ah?"

"Human foot steps."

"...I see."

"I'll find him, though. Whoever he is. I will."

Arnold was enjoying the breeze of the afternoon, and a lamb by his foot made a funny noise. In truth, his days passed slowly without Gerald's visits, and he had no interest in angering him again. He kept any bad feelings he has about Gerald continuing his hunt to himself.

* * *

"Helga?" Phoebe shoved at her friend's shoulder. "Helga," she pinched her cheek.

Helga awoke with a start, sitting up quickly, and on her guard. She looked out with panic, before realizing she had just fallen asleep under the Heyerdahl's tree in market square, and was surrounded by the usual chatter of town life and horse hooves passing by.

She slumped against it with relief. "I'm sorry, Pheebs." She yawned, "I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"You've never slept well a night of your life," Phoebe told her with sympathy, reaching her hand out from her token red cloak, brushing the mussed hair from Helga's face. "It's alright."

Phoebe looked back at the market, "you missed a stop by from Sid and Harold."

"Anything important?"

"More gossip," Phoebe shrugged, fiddling with the tassel that tied her cape together, "apparently, the Queen is throwing a festival, starting in three day's time, even, and the entire Kingdom is invited. Not that anyone from these parts will go."

If you took the sensible, safe route, the castle was a day's journey, two if you were being cautious and generous with your sleeping and only traveled by daylight. It was only a few hours if you could manage the bridge, but the river was filled with bandits that seemed never to be stopped by any of the efforts of the guard. With the short notice, and the lack of necessity of actually needing to attend a festival, Phoebe was right. Likely no one would go.

"Do we know why she's throwing it?"

"All speculation," Phoebe shrugged, crossing her feet at the ankle.

Helga, herself, was not a fan of speculation. She was teased mercilessly as a girl that her name wasn't Helga, that they only started calling her that after she killed her sister with witchcraft.

All of it, of course, was nonsense. Helga couldn't remember a time before her name was Helga, but she could remember Olga. And her father knew exactly who killed Olga, he hunted for him every day. The man with the eyes of a beast, and the skin of a snake, or at least, that's what her father told her. Helga had mild suspicions that the man hunt had driven her father mad, but he war promised by the Prime Minister if he could find him, they would bring him to justice.

And so he disappeared every morning and came back at the break of day, searching for the warlock that had given Olga the ability to spin straw into gold, only to later reclaim it…and her life.

Helga still wasn't much fond of her name, though.

"Well," Phoebe rubbed a hand on her knee, before standing to her feet. "I have to make a run for mother, but," she smiled down at her, sad lilt on her delicate features, "stay as long as you need, alright?"

"Ah," Helga followed her, putting herself on her feet with only mild difficulty, "I should be going."

Phoebe was giving her a worried glance.

"I've survived today," Helga put a hand on her shoulder, glancing up at the sky, the red of the sunset just beginning to peak over the horizon of the trees, clouds settling in thickly, "I've survived yesterday and the day before that." She glanced back to her friend, "and I'll survive tomorrow, too."

* * *

Gerald, with maybe slightly less irritation, was riding his horse back through the wood to market. He still had to face the village, the undoubted ridicule that was awaiting him there. He couldn't help but feel that his horse understood his melancholic attitude, and they slowly trotted on the path, the thick roots and vines of the forest being cleared away for the ease of the traveler.

Gerald was, perhaps, staring moodily about, when he spotted the man.

He was, at a distance and with great caution, sneaking around the trunk of a great tree. It was odd to see anyone off the path of the forest, let alone someone Gerald had never before seen. He wore black leather gloves and a thick black cape with a hood, virtually undistinguishable. Gerald halted his horse, watching the man with interest.

A few yards ahead was a young girl, one he did know, adorned in a heavy red cape, jumping over a dead tree and disappearing further into the thick of the wood. He wanted to call out, warn her that she was being followed, but the only person he would alert with his call would be the man, most likely. They were too far away for Gerald to catch on foot, and his horse wouldn't make it through the forest without a path. And then, as if it were a trick of the light…the man was gone. Gerald leaned forward, squinting, but he couldn't see him at all. The girl climbed further into the forest, red cape disappearing between green trees.

He straightened up, kicked his heel, and he and his horse galloped to town.

"I've seen a man!" Gerald cried at the town post.

"I see men every day," Sid told him tiredly from his stall a few yards away. "No one else stands there and yells about it." A few of the people in the square laughed, giving Gerald an amused glance, while continuing to close their shops for the night. It was just after night fall, a man lit the candle by Gerald's head, in the post, so people could see.

"No," Gerald insisted, reigns stiff in his hands. "I've seen the one responsible for the crops gone missing!" People were looking up with a wary, distrustful interest.

"How can you be sure?" One asked, setting down his hammer.

"He lies back there-" he gestured behind him with a non-specific wave, "at the edge of the wood. Off path! I've never seen him before in my life." He explained to the growing interested crowd. "Dirt on his knees, madness on his face!"

"Why didn't you call to him, ask his intentions?"

"He disappeared! Into thin air, there then gone!" Murmers of interest spread throughout the crowd, and Gerald tried not to shine in the attention. He heard the soft whispers of witchcraft, which, after the incident surrounding Olga's death, was the highest of crimes in their town. He turned to Sid, who had Harold by the neck, butcher's knife still in his hand. They listened intently. "He was following someone. If I'm not incorrect…" He turned around to the specific family, mother and father standing outside their cottage, with not their own daughter, but the Pataki girl, who looked unamused and rather bored, "the daughter of the Heyerdahls."

Helga looked up with concern, turning back to her friend's parents, who clutched each other, and then to Gerald.

"Then what are we standing around for?!" She yelled to the square, gathering up her own belongings by her feet, "let's ride."

* * *

Helga allowed herself to fall into the middle of the pack, standing on the outskirts, surveying the forest for any sign of her best friend. She could give a rats ass about the man Gerald had most likely fancied up in the hopes for adventure. She saw it then, by large rock by the river, what seemed to be the glimpse of her infamous red cape. Helga stood off to the side of the pack, letting the villagers pass her by, squinting in the distance to be sure.

But, as Gerald had mentioned earlier, how strange it seemed, it was as if the cloak disappeared before her very eyes.

And with it, any hope that it had been Phoebe.

Helga thought she must be imagining things, dehydrated or worse, rubbing a hand on her forehead with exhaustion. She, however, stepped forward anyway.

She ambled, ungraciously, over the thick roots and fallen branches, forward, off the path and into the wood.

* * *

Arnold had no good feeling when he saw torches pass by his house in the dusk, not the organized, steady march of the guard, but the jumble of villagers.

He couldn't help the feeling that Gerald had something to do with it, too.

He was tempted to shut his curtains and tell his grandparents to not worry, and to tuck in for bed. It was what he, ordinarily, would have done. He'd reprimand Gerald in the morning, or during his next visit. But Arnold found himself so anxious by the unorganized bramble of villagers, that he grabbed his boots and his cloak, and called out that he was going out.

He had a man to find – but it was not whoever everyone else was looking for, surely.

* * *

It was a lead far better than anything the ring of idiots on the path before her had. She wouldn't stray far, just as long as she could see the fire of the torches of the villagers.

She was cursing her own pluck and urge to walk her own path as she stumbled her way through rocks and fallen branches, barely able to keep up with the lights of the villagers that were starting to fall out of sight. She wasn't even headed in the direction of the cloak she saw in the first place, not anymore, or at least she didn't think so. It was very difficult to tell in a dark wood which way was where. She felt lucky to have kept track of the villagers, even. She had basically given up entirely, just trying to forge her way back to the villagers, when she tripped on a thick vine. She fell to the side, away from the villagers, grabbing on to the nearest tree for support. Except it was a thick tree, and she slid around it, knocking herself into another human.

He, with basic human instinct, grabbed on to her as she fell, black leather gloves nearly up to his elbows was the first thing she took sight of. Her eyes followed the sight, and grew wide at what she discovered lied just beyond them. In the small space between glove and sleeve, was skin the texture of scales… and perhaps green, maybe an iridescent blue? They shone under the light of the stars above their heads.

She jumped back, perhaps in fear, at the man's odd appearance, glancing up to his face.

Eyes, that maybe some would call brown but she would call gold narrowed at her, and then, by the will of nothing other than witchcraft, the man was gone.

She jumped with fright even further, stumbling backwards, staring around in awe. She grasped at the branch of a nearby tree, needing anything to support her. It was as if when he disappeared he had snatched the air right out of her lungs with him.

Brushing by her ankles was fur… she jumped again, gasping for air as she held on to the branch as if it held her life in it's leaves. It was the fur of a wolf… which leaped athletically to a nearby boulder. It leaped to a fallen log, and then it turned back to her.

The same golden eyes leered at her, as if it were a challenge.

" _Go on_ ," they whispered without actually making a noise, _"go ahead and tell them what you've seen, and see if they don't think you're mad."_

The wolf bounded forward, and away.

The villagers were out of sight as she rasped for breath, clutching around herself as if she wasn't sure how she was still alive. She let her hands fall on to the cool rock of the boulder, then pressed her face on it, allowing the crisp, clear air of the night fill her lungs.

The skin…the eyes…

It was then that she realized exactly who she had seen, and her body collapsed onto the rock, shaking…of course her father could never find a man who wasn't really a man.

Her hair was sticking to her neck, she rolled over on the rock with exhaustion raking her body in a way it perhaps never had… She blinked at the stars in the sky through the leaves of the trees. Her mind was zipping away, at the possibilities…of what to do then. Suddenly, finding the villagers was the furthest thing from Helga's thoughts. She couldn't predict her father's reaction…she would have no idea, really. It could help…it could make things worse.

Helga wasn't sure exactly what things getting worse would mean for him.

And then, like a flash, it hit her, so suddenly it made her chest ache. The Queen would want to know if there was a werewolf walking her forests…and a warlock at that.

And Helga happened to know for a fact the Queen would be home the following eve…

* * *

"Gerald," Arnold called, pushing his way through the pack, to his best friend who was leading the charge on a horse near the front. "Gerald!"

"Arnold!" Gerald enthused from atop his horse when he reached him, continuing to move forward. "I was beginning to think you were bound to that house by some sort of spell."

"Gerald," Arnold was annoyed with his friend, and with the cold beginning to set in in the night. He wrapped himself more tightly with his cloak, "exactly what do you think you're doing?"

"We have a man to find Arnold," Gerald answered with determination. It might have been the sudden height difference, because Gerald was riding a horse and Arnold left the tired Abner at the farm, but Arnold felt as if Gerald was speaking down to him. "Not that you would care, you wouldn't even recognize the girl he was following if you saw her."

"Gerald," Arnold was astounded by the accusations of his friend. He was insulted, in the least, that Gerald took his dedication to his Grandparents as a lack of caring about anything else. "This is mad." He settled for saying that, in lieu of what he wanted to say, that Gerald was acting like an entitled idiot because he wanted to impress the town.

"Arnold," Gerald replied crossly, leaning forward, eyes scanning the forest in the dim light they had. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Gerald then kicked his horse, picking up the pace, and so did Sid by his side. They rode forward, and so followed the rest of the town, leaving a baffled Arnold standing where he stood, in the thick forest, alone.

"Gerald!" He called after him, knowing it was utterly useless, "when you've actually figured something out, no one will…"

Arnold trailed off, watching the crowd disappear further on the path. If a friend yelled a warning at another friend and no one was around to hear it, did it even happen?

He kicked angrily at a rock, shoved his frigid hands in the pockets of his cloak, and turned around, making way for his home.

* * *

"What's all this, then?" Her father stared at her, in surprise she was there that late in the morning. She'd ordinarily be at the farm before cock's crow. She had one or two things left on the table, but the rest was in her rucksack. She had actually hoped to have been gone by the time he awoke.

"I'm…" She glanced down at the table, what was left on it. A portion of bread, and a canteen. She rethought her original statement, and phrased it like a request, instead. "I wish to go to the Queen's festival, father."

"You?" He guwaffed loudly, tension broken by what he considered to be absurdity. He slammed himself down into the chair by the fire, clearly amused, "you don't belong in the Queen's orchards, let alone her ballroom. Just look at what you're wearing, girl."

It was her best, she noted grimly as she glanced down. It wasn't fancy, but it was practical and clean, without holes, even. She swallowed again, building herself up from the attacks of her father's ridicule.

"I have information that I think might be of interest to the Queen," she swallowed thickly, "and now is the only time to go when I know she'll be in."

She, like everyone else, had no idea where the Queen so oft went. But the fact was inarguable- she was hardly even there, let alone holding court.

"Oh, yea?" Her father leaned on to his knees. "What information would that be, girl?"

Helga felt faint. It might have been the skipping rations the night before and that morning, to ensure that her father would have to eat while she traveled. It might have been nervousness.

She could tell her father what she knew…but she worried it would drive him even further towards the brink. He'd become more obsessed…more angry. It was in his best interest to never know, but it wasn't as if she could tell him that.

"I can't tell you." She said definitively.

"You…" He stood up, looming over her, "what?"

"For your own protection." She tried to look him in the eye, but she could hear her voice wavering. "It is best if only I…and the Queen, of course," she swallowed thickly, "know."

He grit his teeth, staring down his nose at her. "And what, exactly," he leered, grabbing her frail chin with his large hand, "could you," his eyes jumped down to her body quickly, and back to her face, "protect _me_ from?"

Yourself, she thought grimly, but not speaking it. She let her eyes fall to the floor, feeling the blaze of her father's angry stare on her forehead.

"You're a disgrace," he all but spit, furiously walking around her and grabbing her rucksack from the chair it sat on. "You want to make yourself useful? Go out, and find a boy to marry, like every other maid in town." She kept still, keeping her eyes on the ground.

She, in her heart of hearts, tried to keep the fury building up in her chest shoved under her skin. He spoke to her as if she was a child, as if she weren't the breadwinner for their family. As if she weren't the only reason he was alive.

"It's about the warlock." She muttered under her breath…and told herself that she didn't say it in spite.

"It's…" her father's footsteps halted, he was no longer moving away from her, "what?!" He growled.

"It's about the warlock who kille-" she couldn't finish her sentence, because her father had the neckline of her dress fisted in his hand. His face loomed into hers, threatening and dangerous. She twisted her face up, tossing her head back, attempting to put any and all distance between them.

"You're meaning to tell me…" her father sounded like a beast himself, all anger and heat radiating from his face, "you had information on that man, and you waited until now," his fist tightened, "to tell me?"

"You won't find him." Helga replied grimly under his breath.

It was either the right response, or the complete wrong one, because her father released her, but aggressively, and she fell backwards, into their chimney.

"I WON'T-"

"YOU WON'T FIND HIM," Helga shouted over her father, helping herself to her feet, "BECAUSE HE'S NOT HUMAN," she brushed off the edge of her skirt. "OR, HE'S SOMETHING IN BETWEEN. BUT THE MAN I SAW," she didn't know she was yelling her voice raw, but she was, and her father only stared at her. "WAS A BEAST ONLY A MOMENT LATER."

"…you've gone mad," Her father backed away from her, shaking his head. "Stark-raving."

"Father, no!" She insisted, straightening her hair around her face and moving towards him, "if you'd only listen to me. We need a witch-hunter, or a huntsman. And I know the Prime Minister was no help, but if I can speak to the Queen…she'll help! I know she'll…"

As she spoke she watched the expression on her father's face twist and remorph back into the fury it once had earlier in the conversation. He still had her rucksack clutched in his hand. His brows lowered, and he interrupted, pointing at her furiously.

"You're enough of an embarrassment as it is, Helga." He grabbed her sack from the bottom, and tipped it over, dumping her belongings all over the floor of their cottage. "You're not embarrassing me further. You are not riding up to the palace dressed like a service wench, and begging to see the Queen." He threw the bag at her. It missed her, and narrowly missed the fire behind her. She wondered which one was his aim. "You're," he pointed at her again, "not going to that festival."

He walked back into his bedroom and slammed the door.

Helga sunk to her knees, and cried.

Helga sat furiously in the orchard later that day, unable to pick or be productive in the slightest. Her eyes were, finally, for the first time in hours, clear and dried of any tears. She had her hair tied at her neck, angrily tugging at the leaves she had in her lap. She wouldn't be able to bring home nearly any rations that day, as they took a portion of what they picked.

She racked her brain for any memory she had, any story her father had told her, any tidbit of information she had ever known about the warlock.

He had abilities that were unheard of…straw into gold…conjuring, instant death, Helga recalled with a swallow. Apparently, now, shapeshifting.

The story never really changed…he, told Olga that she would be required to come with him. Olga didn't want to, and he told her that in exchange for her freedom…he, oddly, required her to know his name.

She didn't.

And when legend spread through the town, and rumors upon rumors came back to their family. After discovering an embroidered satchel, and thinking themselves quite clever, the only name they had to present him with was Rumplestiltskin…

He had laughed, gripped at the air, and in the next moment Olga had turned purple, and dropped to the floor.

Her father had screamed, grabbing the man's own dagger from his hand and lunging it into his chest.

He had laughed again, pulled it back out…and the man healed before his very eyes.

He sheathed the dagger and walked away.

" _Rumplestiltskin_ …" She muttered to herself, wringing her hands restlessly, _"who are you, Rumplestiltskin!?"_

Helga shoved her face into her hands, and grew worried, for only a moment, that she had gone as mad as she suspected her father was. She wiped at her eyes, though they held no more tears. Wind had picked up in her clearing of bushes, she listened to them rustle as she went over the details in her mind once more. How does one defeat a warlock without the interference of the Queen? Why was her father so stubborn?

She glanced up, looking at the bushes sway together and then apart in pattern that seemed…unnatural. She stood up, trying to not let her sudden fear creep all the way up her neck.

She stared around, now that she was taller, because she was standing, but couldn't find the source of the wind that only seemed to be affecting the bush directly in front of her.

It split, down the middle, and forward fluttered a small piece of parchment; adorned with only a word in red ink. A name.

 _Mordred_.

* * *

Gerald decided that morning that surely a hunt for the missing girl wouldn't be too badly taken by his employer, when he chose to explain himself at the start of the following work week. He gently caressed the mane of his horse, wondering if Arnold was right, if maybe the animal was working too hard.

The horse nuzzled it's hand, and although he worked it hard, he knew his horse knew that it did not go without love. He stroked at its nose.

He glanced back towards the house...the idea would not please his parents now...but if he could return with the girl.

She would know the man, she would tell them. It would _redeem_ him. The town was furious the prior night when they returned to the village empty handed, no girl, no man, no nothing. He glanced down at his knife in it's makeshift holder, and back at his horse, and decided he could stand one more day of the search. And this time... this time he wouldn't fail.

* * *

She searched the orchard for a wolf wrathfully for the next quarter of an hour, enraged with the entire situation. She was frustrated, hurt, and upset, and she had worked herself so much that she paced in a livid circle around herself.

She, however, knew at that time of day, there was no chance of her father still being at home…and she did have her bow by the door.

She wasn't the best hunter, but she was pretty damned good.

She abandoned her basket in the orchard, stomping her way back to her cottage. She noticed the clear skies above her, the light breeze in the air and way the sun wasn't hitting her head too harshly.

She supposed if there was ever a good day for hunting, it would be that day.

* * *

Arnold was checking on the meats they had curing when he had seen it…Gerald's girl, he could only assume, rushing past the sheep enclosure at the top of the hill. No one was ever up that far off the path but himself. He wanted to call out to her, assure that she was alright, but his breath caught in his throat.

Hot on her pursuit was a wolf. He stumbled backwards a bit, watching it with nervous fright. It would, undoubtedly, attack his sheep. And if there was one wolf, there was more than likely a pack of them somewhere.

To Arnold's astonishment, the wolf stalked past, keeping a steady track, snout on the ground, of what Arnold could only assume to be the girl. As Arnold rushed into the cottage for a cloak and a knife, he figured he owed Gerald several apologies. He ran out without a word to his grandparents.

By the time he had gotten to the top of the smaller sheep enclosure, the wolf was gone, but it couldn't be far moving at the rate it was moving at.

Arnold eyed the forest with a distasteful distrust, but his worry for the girl in the cloak won out, and sheathed his knife, before stepping into the entirely disorganized wood.

He thought he had seen the wolf, and he was following it carefully, even just to track it to its den, so he could alert, and apologize to, Gerald. He carefully stepped over branches and heavy vines and overgrown roots. He stumbled then, over a dip in the earth, and he stumbled into a clearing.

His heart sank, he must have not been on the right trail. He knew he shouldn't be so disappointed in himself…he didn't have any experience in tracking wolves. He was naïve for believing he could just…do it instinctively. He didn't fancy himself much of a huntsmen, at any rate.

A rustling persisted in a bush across the clearing. Arnold held his knife with caution, warily bouncing back and forth on his toes, stance insistent that he was prepared for whomever-or whatever it was, despite his own heart being ready to leap straight out of his chest.

"For the love of the Qu-" An undoubtedly irritated, but unmistakably female voice quipped, and a blonde girl all but fell out of the bushes. "Oh," the girl remarked from the forest floor, "hello."

Her dress was tattered and her face was smeared in dirt.

She considered him, grimly, and then as if she were suddenly suspicious, she jumped back to her feet, equipping her bow with slick skill.

"State your business in the wood." She told him firmly, walking in a deliberate circle around him.

"I'm…" he'd feel like a right ass telling her that he was wolf hunting, "I'm looking for someone." He held his knife out, but he had no idea why, he wasn't threatened by her, not really.

"Who?"

"A girl." They were still circling each other, but the distrust in her crystal clear blue eyes was fading.

"And…your business with her?"

"That's," he swallowed his smile, "that's a bit rude to ask, don't you think?" He sheathed the knife, showing her his clean hands.

She lowered her bow. "Who are you?"

"I'm the lad of Phil Shortman, the shepherd on the hill." He grinned at her. "I don't come down to market often."

She rolled her eyes, "of course, a bloody shepherd." She put her arrow back in her quiver, "I was ready to shoot down a damned shepherd." She chastised herself, leaning down to retie her boot, come loose and riddled with dirt and small twigs.

"And your name?" He asked, leaning on the tree with crossed arms.

"'m not sure if it's any business of yours."

"I told you mine."

"You didn't, actually." She had her blonde hair braided away from her face, and thick eyebrows framing in a wonderfully beautifully face. Arnold regretted his lie, in that moment, that he was looking for a girl.

"Arnold," he held out a hand. She reached to grab it, but he pulled back a moment, "and your name is?"

She hesitated a moment, as if she didn't like the answer she had to give him, but held her hand out anyway and said "Helga," after a moment.

They shook hands. Her grip was firm, but her wrists were slender. Arnold found her…really quite fetching, actually. He smiled at her, and she tentatively removed her hand from his.

"Are you on your way to the festival, then?"

"Dressed in this?" She looked down at the robe with the tatters and the dress with holes, "no, I don't think so."

"Right," he smiled at her. She glanced up behind him, the way the sun was beginning to set behind the trees.

"I must be going," She pushed passed him. He watched her go, desperately wanting to call out to her, but knowing he, himself, should be going too.

"Wait," he called after her retreating form. He didn't know why he bothered- no one ever listened to his calls. "I'd…I'd like to see you again!" He called feebly, anyway.

* * *

After thoroughly ridding herself of the …sweet, if not slightly irritating in the moment, shepherd boy, she had stalked her way further into the forest. When disappointment had nearly soaked her up to her knees, she saw Phoebe's red cloak. Wolf be damned, she realized, her friend had not yet made it out of the wood.

"PHOEBE!" She screamed at her with an enthused wave, running forward into the thickness of trees.

The cloak did not disappear this time, it, thankfully, only got nearer. She was on top of a boulder… or a large rock. Helga waved and stumbled forward, but wondered why her friend hadn't replied at all to her cries and calls. Helga wondered if she herself had gone invisible, for a moment.

She stopped meters shy, because the wolf was hissing at the edge of the rock. Phoebe didn't reply to her cries, just stared down at it. She didn't seem as scared as Helga would think she would be.

Helga, cursing her shaking hands and fumbling fingers, drew an arrow from her quiver, and before thinking her shot through, before doing anything at all, really, shot an arrow at the wolf.

The wolf howled, dissolving into man right at the base of the rock. If Helga hadn't seen the magic she had seen that week already, she wouldn't have believed her own eyes. She would have thought it a hallucination.

The man's hood covered his face, and he stood up, drawing the arrow from his chest with, again, a laugh. His long leather gloves flicked the arrow away as if it were a toothpick he pulled from his teeth.

"You foo-" He didn't get to finish his sentence, because Helga, filled with hatred and an unforeseen spirit, barreled into him, sending them both flying towards the rock.

She reached into the sheath he had at his thigh, procuring his dagger in his confusion at being tackled in such a…human way. She kicked his chest then, pushed further away from her, and she flipped around, holding out the dagger, back pressed against the boulder.

"You will pa-" He held out his hand towards her, as she had been told he had done to Olga, years and years ago. She could still breath, raggedly, from all the movement, but breath. He dropped his hand, if she could have only known the look on his face. He reached at her again, but with no change.

"I will not, Mordred," she hissed at him. The dagger in her hand glowed then, and finally, appearing in script on the side, was the name. She understood, she thought, at what it was calling her to do. She looked up at him again, and how he was moving backwards, stumbling over branches and rough terrain, away from her. She ran forward, and with all her strength, lunged the dagger into his ribcage.

He grabbed her forearm, and they fell, together, into the earth.

She coughed as dirt flew up around them, and she had narrowly avoided banging her head into the trunk of a tree. She pushed herself to kneel up, hacking as she knew there was dirt in her eyes, and very little breath in her lungs.

A hand reached out and grabbed her, tugging her back to his side.

"You," he hissed at her, clutching the front of her cloak, "know not what you do." His hood fell of his face, and had he not such a tight grip on her shirt, she would have fell back in fear. The scales from his arm continued on to his face, ghastly skin toned scales around his eyes and falling down his cheeks.

He dropped his grip on her, letting his head fall back on the earth. He twirled his finger around the handle of the dagger, shutting his eyes. "Magic," he drew it out of him slowly, grotesquely. Helga looked away with a flinch. "Has no place in your world." He threw the dagger with the gold handle by her feet. "And it always comes with a price."

She stood up, watching him open his eyes. He stared at the sky above him, an almost plaintive smile on his face.

His eyes met hers for a final time, "you will have until midnight." He warned her.

She wanted to know what that meant- what any of it meant, but he almost…dissolved into the earth under him, vanishing in a cloud of purple mist.

By her boot was the dagger, she picked it up carefully.

As his body faded, so did his name, and the simple name Helga appeared, in swirling script. It turned the blazing gold color his had in the moments prior, before it, too, vanished into the blade.

"Phoebe, I…" Helga turned around quickly, stumbling over her own feet.

Phoebe, as well, was gone.

* * *

Arnold had also lost his way, he realized, after he lost the girl. Lost the wolf, lost the girl, lost his way. He felt, well…like a right loser.

Dark had fallen by the time he had managed to find his way to a path at all, and he was exhausted. He stumbled his way back to his cottage, trying to figure out the best way to phrase shirking his evening responsibilities to his grandparents.

When he could, finally, see the sweet, sweet sight of his home, he had to stop.

There were horses, certainly not his own, certainly not Gerald's, stationed outside of his house.

And if he didn't know any better, they were decorated, by the fancy blanket under the saddle, with the sigil of the Kingdom.

There was yelling inside his household, and there were men he didn't recognize in his sheep enclosure, they were braying unhappily as they were careless knocked in every which direction.

He dropped to his knees, glad he wasn't carrying a light, and crawled forward, towards his house with caution. He crawled under the fruit tree, right up to Abner's enclosure. Abner was in his stable, looking out his little horse window with interest. Arnold held a finger to his lips, praying the horse would understand, and crawled over the wall, into the enclosure, about the closest he could get to the house without detection.

He heard the sound of a glass pot breaking.

"WHERE IS THE BOY, OLD MAN?" An angry male voice demanded, and he heard loud footsteps on the stairs, which led to his room.

"He's not here," came his grandpa's feeble reply.

There was a sound of a smack, hopefully on wood. "HE OBVIOUSLY LIVES HERE, AND HIDING HIM IS JUST GOING TO MAKE THINGS WORSE FOR YOU."

"I done told ya's, he's not he-" His grandpa gave a shout of pain.

He didn't know what the Kingdom wanted with him, he didn't know what he could have possibly done wrong, but whatever it was wasn't worth his grandparents being in pain. He couldn't kneel in the hay and listen to his grandfather yell, he would never be able to do it.

He hoped over the fence of Abner's enclosure, ready to walk, proudly, into the house of those who had raised him all of those years.

He was stopped by a sudden light in the attic, coming from his window, which was in his closet. He glanced up at it, even it meant detection from who he could only assume was the guard.

It was his grandma.

How she even managed the steps up, he had no idea.

She fiddled with the hatch, before finally forcing the window open.

"Arnold," her frail face did the best loud whisper she could manage, "run!"

"What?!" He was completely baffled, and worried the men in the sheep pen would hear them.

"We didn't keep you here all these years for this to end this way… _you have to run_!" She told him quickly, and then shutting the window before he could get a word in edgewise.

Ordinarily, Arnold never would have listened. But he was never one for ignoring what his grandparents told him to do. And so, he did. He accepted whatever sacrifice they were choosing to make for whatever reason, even though he understood absolutely none of it, turned around, and ran in the other direction.

He left Abner, and prayed that his grandma could use him to make her own escape.

He couldn't help but curse himself, as he ran downwards on the path that Gerald took daily to the village... he had thought himself a _huntsman_.

He was, quite clearly, now, the hunted wolf.

* * *

Gerald was almost finished making the third loop that the path allowed for. He stopped his tired horse with a sigh, glancing out over the wood, wishing Phoebe would show herself. If he couldn't have the man's head, he at least wanted to return with Phoebe. He was worried about her. She couldn't spend another night in the wood, not alone.

He stopped to wash his hands, sore from the reigns, and his face, sore from exhaustion, in the creek. He refilled his canteen with the cool water, careful not to get himself too wet, as the night's chill would be settling in soon, as night itself had just fallen.

He was wrestling the crust out of the corner of his eye, staring at his starlit reflection, when the water rippled unnaturally below him. In a circle, then growing out. He stared at it.

It repeated itself in a bizarre pattern, like a slow, slow beat. And then…one circle was also met with the ground shaking, ever so slightly.

The ground shook again.

And again.

And again, and then Gerald was on his feet, almost forgetting his canteen, racing back to his horses, who was wrestling against the reigns Gerald had tied to the tree. Gerald untied it with shaking hands, as the ground shook again, and again, and the thumping got louder and closer.

It blocked the light then, just as Gerald had his horse unhooked. Not that the stars were the ideal light source, but they were something, but he was in a world of black. He shook as he felt the neck of his horse, thankful it was loyal, thankful he knew his animal so well. He fumbled around, finding the stirrup in the darkness, glad he didn't accidentally kick his horse.

He mounted his horse quickly, and the frightened animal took off in a speed Gerald hadn't known it to travel by. As the distance grew, and they traveled on the path downhill, he looked back. He could see it, rising just above the line of trees, pushing forward, still creating massive, thumping footsteps.

It was a giant.

* * *

 _a/n ahhhhh giants and magic and queens and kingdoms and so. much. forest. at one time i was so done with making it clear that the forest has paths and if ur not on them it gets hard that i wanted to be like THE FOREST IS HARD TO WALK IN, YOU GET IT, IM SURE lol_

 _i swear to goodness, unlike most of my fics, things will make a lot more sense in the next chapter. but give me predictions! tell me what you think! ahh i like this so much i hope someone else is excited too lol. ten points to u if u can tell me what everyone's fairytale was...except olga she doesn't count bc i literally named hers, haha._

 _anyway thank you for reading this big ol chapter, next one will not be nearly as long :/ probably about 6-8 chapters for this guy? alternating lengths between this and about half as long, if you're wondering. big love to you all, let me know what you think!_

 _xx, k._


	2. Chapter 2

**PROLOGUE:**

 **PART TWO**

Helga dodged at branches and winced as her feet in her threadbare shoes cracked against the unforgiving path of the wood, gasping for breath but upkeeping her sprint. She had seen the giant, right above the skyline, and she had ran.

She couldn't tell direction worth a damn when she was well sorted out, and now it was, frankly, even worse. She just ran in whichever direction she could muster, whichever direction seemed to be further from the giant.

She stumbled on a bit of branch fallen into the path, and she just barely caught herself on the branch of an oak, flying forward a bit, and swinging back.

Her chest heaved, her face was flushed and warm where her hair fell into it. She examined her feet as she attempted to catch her breath. Blood was starting to seep through her shoes, evidence that she was right, the pebbles and small stones were cutting their way into her feet.

She, with a frustrated, angry, wave, dismissed them, because there was nothing she could particularly do about it.

Her toes then tingled, and she felt as if something grew around them, a soft cushion.

She fell backwards in surprise, kicking her feet away, but the soft encasing remained.

She looked up at her feet, and they were encased in brown leather boots, a pair her father would never have ever bought for her. She touched them softly, with wonder.

And then the footsteps of the giant were closer behind her.

She wished she could magic away her breathing problems as she took another gulp of bruising, steely air, and took off again.

She happened upon a fork in the road, and stopped to catch her breath again, and cursed her own ignorance of the forest. It was fully possible that one could loop back up…directly into the footpath of the nearing giants. They took massive footsteps, covering the space Helga took minutes to clear in seconds.

She had chosen the wrong one, when she chose the one on the left. She ran straight into a clearing, with a cottage with a fight pursuing on the inside, and a, seemingly separate, one occurring on the outside. She wanted to curse herself and turn around, but she saw a horse, whinnying in its enclosure, as if it were deeply unhappy to be there.

And horse legs were much faster than human legs…but the risk was too great to approach the cottage. She was going to turn around, when she tripped on the toe of her boot, unused to such clunky footwear.

She looked back to the horse, and focused on the hatch of the enclosure. She stuck her hand out, focusing her energy just on the hatch, and with a curious twist of her hand, it unlocked. She realized then, that she couldn't very well magic the horse, it would choose where it wanted to go.

But strange for stranger, the horse rode up to her as if it knew her…as if it were familiar. She was fairly certain she had never seen it in her life, not that she was particularly friendly with any given horse. It was saddleless. She shut her eyes and ran her hands over the surprisingly calm horses' spine. When she ran her hand back in the other direction, it had a saddle.

She looked up, into the amazingly cooperative horse's eyes, and thought she could most definitely get used to this.

* * *

Gerald knew his thighs would ache for days as he galloped down the path. He was nearly to Arnold's cottage, whom he needed to warn as quickly as possible so he could get to the village before the giant. There was no real safe place to hide from a giant, except out of it's footpath. Warning would be enough. He had been fortunate enough to never witness it, but he had heard that a single footstep of a giant was enough to destroy an entire cottage.

He was riding up into the clearing, when his horse very nearly collided with another. Their horses reacted violently, jumping up. Gerald nearly fell off, and whoever his newfound associate was gave a shout of fright.

When the horses had the space to themselves, they circled each other pleasantly, as if the horses knew each other. The only odd thing was, Gerald knew the horse, knew the girl, knew the horse didn't belong to the girl.

"Why," he wheezed, "are you on Arnold's horse?'

"Who is Arnold?" She bit back viciously, tightening the reigns in her hand.

"How do you not know who Arnold is if you're coming down from his home," he gestured beyond her, "on his horse?" He gestured to Abner.

"Are you headed that way then?" She looked over her shoulder. "I don't think you want to be, Gerald." She leaned forward with more intensity, "have you seen Phoebe?"

He didn't want to admit he hadn't, but he also didn't want to say that if he had, he had lost her. "No," he nearly cursed. "I haven't."

She opened her mouth, then quickly closed it. She righted her horse, back in the direction Gerald came from, kicked Abner, and they continued down. She nearly tumbled off, a clumsy, inexperienced rider.

Gerald looked back in the direction he was headed. He didn't particularly trust Helga, claiming to not know of Arnold but having his horse. He wanted to check on the Shortmans, but somehow he had himself turned around, and following Helga's trot.

The horse's clicking hooves were deafening in the wood that was silent save for the now, very distant, shuddering footsteps. She must've known he was behind her, but she didn't say anything. and he wished he were in front so he could be moving slightly faster. For her awkwardness, she was moving quickly. When they came to another fork, she was choosing to move in the wrong direction. The village was the other way. Helga must've not been familiar with the wood, and the sign was poorly lit with the light of the stars as their only guide.

"Helga," he called out, pulling his horse to a stop. "You've gone the wrong way?"

"Have I?" She had galloped ahead a few yards. She pulled up, turning back with a curious look.

"Village is this way," he nodded to the right.

"Further away from the giant is this way," she jacked a thumb over her shoulder.

Gerald let his mouth fall open in shock. "You don't want to warn the village?"

Even in the distance, and the lowlight, he could see her raise a thick eyebrow, "You are, aren't you?" Abner was taking off again, she must have signaled him at some moment, "best of luck." She called, not bothering to look back. Or perhaps she couldn't, she, after all, wasn't a very good rider.

* * *

Arnold's everything was aching as he sat panting on a rock. He had run all the way past the village, or at least he thought so. His inexperience in the woods lended him not favors. The problem was he didn't have anywhere in particular to run to. He didn't know where he was supposed to be going, just not home. Home was all he wanted at the moment. He heard the distant galloping of a horse, and he groaned. He rolled over the rock, in a slow, melancholic movement. It was a half arsed attempt at hiding, but he didn't much fancy being a fugitive. Had it not been for his Grandma's frantic face and his Grandpa's sacrifice, he might've just let himself be caught already.

When he looked up from his, frankly, terrible rock hiding spot, he saw not a guard, but a familiar girl…on an _extremely_ familiar horse. His body was racked with exhaustion, but he shoved himself up, opening his mouth to say some form of greeting and perhaps to inquire why she was, albeit poorly, riding his horse. And if she had stolen him, why she had stolen someone else's saddle…as the dark brown one she had on Abner certainly wasn't his.

Abner had slowed to a trot a few yards ahead, and Arnold smiled, sitting up on the rock, and opening his arms for Abner to come to him. With loyalty, and to the utter confusion of the girl on the horse, he did.

"…hello." She said flatly. Her hair was falling in her face. She looked nearly as exhausted as Arnold felt. Abner put his face down to Arnold's. Arnold smiled tiredly, patting the good horse on its nose. He looked back to the girl, her flushed cheeks and her eyes sparkling with a bit of the stars in them. She was just…fetching to him, if a bit earthly, with large eyebrows and tousled hair.

"Sweet horse you have here," he responded carefully.

"I think so, too."

He weighed his options. If he was on the run from the law…he didn't particularly want a horse. He wasn't sure how to take care of him, and himself as well. Horses were also loud. Arnold would now need to be quiet and sneaky for…likely the rest of his life. It wasn't much a life, but one his grandparents fought for him to have.

He didn't know how to phrase that to the girl, that the queen wanted him dead for whatever reason, so go ahead, keep the horse, so long as she love him. That would be rather bizarre, and to be frank, his new objective was less to stay out of the reach of the guard, and more to stay within reach of the girl. He didn't want to seem odd to her, and who knows, he wouldn't have been surprised if his grandparents gave her the horse, to reach whatever destination.

"I bet he likes apples and nut butter." Arnold said instead, untangling a twig from Abner's mane.

"…he does."

"He seems the type." Arnold hoped she'd feed him those often…they were, after all, Abner's favorite. He doubted the nut butter could be good for him as a horse, but he certainly wasn't dead yet.

"Are you on the run then, too?" She said finally, letting the exhaustion take over her as she leaned over, slumping as well as she could on a horse.

"Actually," he straightened, "yes I am." There were more fugitives? What was his grandparents keeping from him, exactly? Did the girl know? He felt his heart rate pick up, he would've stood, if his legs weren't still shaking. "Where are you he-"

"Well then," she looked behind her, interrupting him. "Good luck," she then squeezed Abner with her legs, and with a curious look at Arnold, he rode forward.

"Wait!" Arnold called after her, her quickly escaping figure. "Helga, where are you goi-"

He got the feeling that was no invitation to follow her, and his lungs were still burning, so he allowed himself to fall backward, on to the rock.

* * *

Gerald grabbed the torch from his bag, holding it up to light by the town candle as his horse trotted through the square. He walked his horse in to town, noting, oddly, the dead cow in the small pen…he wondered if the owner knew…he wondered if it were the work of the man who was after Phoebe. He leaned out from his horse to light every lantern they passed, ringing his bell loudly and shouting for the village to wake.

Grumbling, angry people squinted at him from windows, and stumbled out of doors.

The first _eager_ people to arrive, looking hopeful and also as if they hadn't slept at all, were the Heyerdahls. Gerald ignored the flash of guilt that passed through him, and cleared his throat to yell at the square. He did his best not to address the Heyerdahl family at all.

"Beware," he waved his torch in the direction that he had just rode from, "there is a giant in our wood."

Murmurs fell through the crowd, be it a bit modest, but it was late. It would spread, Gerald was sure.

"A wolf," Harold spit at the ground, standing out side his family home, arms crossed. "A mysterious man," he waved his fingers at Gerald, taunting him, "and now a _giant_?" He lumbered his way back to his door, "give it a rest, Gerald. Find a damned hobby."

The square was mumbling their agreements, and fear flushed through Gerald's body. He started to shout his disagreements, shout his warnings, pacing his horse back and forth, but it was proving fruitless. Fingers were reaching up to set out lamps, doors were closing, groaning people were hitting their creaking beds.

Gerald, in the most despair he had ever felt, trotted around the square, shouting again his warning for the people.

"Gerald," A gentle hand was on his arm. He looked down, into the face of Mr. Heyerdahl, holding his own lantern up. "Enough," he turned around. He hung it back up on the front of their small cottage. "Thank you for looking for Phoebe." He turned out the light of his lantern, opened his door, and then stepped inside. He never looked back towards Gerald.

Gerald stared around at the square, aghast, frustrated, at the ungrateful square…

If Helga had agreed to come with him, maybe they would've…

He dismissed the thought, as he rode back past the town light.

He would have to protect the village from themselves, and seek help from the only woman who could.

The Queen.

He rode back up to the fork, and down the path Helga had left him on, as he was going to have to get to the kingdom the quick way, over the river…

And pray he didn't get lose his horse, or worse, be killed by bandits, first.

* * *

Helga didn't want to admit to being lost, or maybe she wasn't as she was moving without a general direction in mind. She slowed the horse to a walk, steadily moving down the path, thoughtfully. The shepherd boy was behaving so oddly, she almost felt guilty for not offering him assistance. But really, what could she have done for him? He was also strange about the horse, she considered, as she untangled the knot he noticed in it's hair. She hadn't heard the feet of the giant in nearly a half hour, she could only assume, and she wasn't going anywhere in particular but in the direction the giant wasn't. She had to guess that the giant had changed course, away from their village. She knew by the light of day she would be able to walk back to her cottage…perhaps show her father the dagger.

She looked up at the starry sky, and sighed. But only by the light of day.

* * *

Arnold was almost ready to have his weary legs carry him again, he just wished he knew where to go. A remote life in the wood? He felt his life as a shepherd was just about as remote as possible. He let the despair, along with the cool chill of the wind, seep into his bones, as he sat on the rock. When he heard the galloping of a horse approaching, he didn't hide.

"Arnold?!" He heard an angry Gerald from afar, but he doubted the anger was directed at him. For such a massive wood, it was peculiar he only ran into the same people…almost as if fate had it planned that way. "What are you doing?" Gerald trotted up to him, "and have you seen the girl who has your hors-

"Gerald," Arnold interrupted him, standing for the first time. He leaned in closely to Gerald. He looked down the path to see if Gerald had been followed, but in the dim light of just Gerald's torch, it wasn't as if visibility was on their side. "I am a fugitive-"

"You are a WHAT NOW?!"

Arnold shushed him with vigor. "I don't know what I've done, but I have to get out of here…" he shook his head, "perhaps, out of the Kingdom."

"Arnold," Gerald said with frustration, "although I have no idea what in God's name you're talking about, we have no time to discuss it. There is a damned giant on the loose." Gerald stared down at his dumb-founded friend. "But of course, you, like everyone else in this village, will never believe me…" He grumbled with annoyance, squeezing his horse to keep moving.

"Well, just wait a minute, you-" Arnold had to speed walk after him. "I _saw_ your wolf, alright?!"

Gerald stopped down the path, but didn't turn back to Arnold.

"And I'm sorry."

Gerald had a boastful smile on his face when he turned back to Arnold, holding his torch down to his friend. "Well, come on then, only way out of the kingdom is to cross the river, and it'll be easier to do together."

* * *

Gerald led Arnold, slowing his, probably very tired, horse to a walk. The stars weren't good light, but they were some, enough for Gerald to be able to duck and dodge out of the way of the leaves above him. He was glad Arnold was now carrying the torch to light Abner's path. He was growing weary of holding his arm up.

"A fugitive, then?"

"Yes," Arnold looked rather annoyed with it. "If only I knew for what..."

They walked in silence for a long while. Gerald knew his friend was having an undoubtable bout of introspection, but he _really_ wished he'd save it for later…if he didn't hear him properly, there was a GIANT in the wood… And maybe, without all that thinking, he'd _walk_ a little faster.

But, if his friend had ran the distance the horse had ran in not too long of a time, well- perhaps it wasn't the thinking…perhaps it was just his legs.

"Would you like to ride the horse, then?" Gerald mumbled tiredly.

"I would, very much…" Arnold admitted, "but I shouldn't. If we run into the guard, I'll have to run into the wood again, at a moment's notice."

"And do we know why this is yet?"

"Not the foggiest idea."

"Right."

Gerald stopped, holding out his foot to catch Arnold, when he saw a horse at the end of the path. It was where the road forked out, yet again. One way led to the river, Gerald knew. The other, to the next village over. He squinted, but in the light, he just couldn't make out who rode the horse, or if they bear the sigil of the kingdom.

"Shall we continue?" He muttered to Arnold, "that's the only path I know of to the river…"

"I think," Arnold leaned over his foot, squinting in the distance, "I think it's a girl…" he shoved Gerald's foot out of his way, and continued towards her.

"Girls can be on the guard too, you dolt." Gerald muttered under his breath, following the boy further down the path.

* * *

Helga's inner thighs were sore beyond belief by the time she reached the second fork, and she dismounted, unsure of where she even wanted to go, or where she was supposed to be going. She saw the two approaching, but had little fear… she hadn't heard the sounds of the river yet, and she doubted the possibility of bandits. And if they were, well she had her bow on her back, and now, the dagger tucked into her riding pant.

"Are we three," She said with annoyance from her spot on the trunk of the tree, as they came closer and more into her own vision, "the only people in this entire damned wood?"

"Perhaps at this hour," the shepherd boy was grinning at her, face stretched out around the smile. It was, perhaps with less urgency in the situation, charming.

"Arnold," Gerald introduced, "this is Helga, from the village. Helga, this is Arnold. He's a fugitive, now, so if he just takes off-" Gerald shrugged. He wasn't sure why he just told Helga that, but he had been friends with Phoebe for years…and doubted Helga was untrustworthy nor a spy for the guard.

"A fugitive?" She raised her eyebrows at him from her seated position. "I thought you were a shepherd."

"You, wait-" Gerald looked back and forth between them with disbelief "you told me you didn't know Arnold, whose horse you were riding?!"

"I'm sorry, I guess I had forgotten your name." She told him. He shrugged, with a good natured smile, and sat beside her.

"It's quite alright, there."

"So, this is your horse?"

"I believe it is."

"…I'm also sorry for stealing your horse, then."

He shrugged again, and reached up to rub his hand along Abner's side.

"In my defense…it's been a long night for me," she told him honestly. "And I was going to bring him back, tomorrow, in the light of day. We were on the run from the giant for quite a while," she looked up at Gerald.

"I think," Arnold wrapped his arms around his knees, "it's been a rather long night for us all," he knocked his shoulder into hers with a laugh.

She looked up at him, surprised, maybe, with a laugh of her own.

"As well as I am glad that me, and the horse, apparently, have been able to play match maker for you two," Gerald said with annoyance, "BUT, we're on kind of a tight schedule here."

"So, no shot you'll take me back to the village," Helga shoved herself to her feet, dusting off her boots.

"Back to the vil-" Gerald nearly fell of his horse with frustration, "YOU" he pointed at her, "REFUSED to come with ME to the village."

"I thought that it was going to be giant territory." She shrugged, "honest mistake."

"I could take you back to the village," Arnold offered helpfully, standing up quickly.

"Arnold, you don't even know where the village _is_ -" Gerald was ready to punch someone, he wasn't sure who, quite possibly himself, in the face. "HAVE WE ALL FORGOTTEN THERE IS A GIANT IN THE WOOD?!"

"Well, what did you want me to do about it?!" Helga fought back. Arnold was making an irritatingly mopey, sappy face at the girl. Gerald would strangle him, as soon as he was on his feet and out of sight of Helga.

"We," Gerald grabbed the nearest piece of his friend, namely his head, "are going to the river," He shoved his friend in that direction. "I have a Queen to warn…and you are welcome to join us, but I will be damned before I let this convoluted conversation continue a moment longer."

He galloped ahead, so angry with Arnold and the girl that he didn't really care whether or not they followed him.

* * *

"I should follow him," Arnold told Helga as he watched his friend leave. He fiddled with his fingers, "it's probably in my best interest to cross the river, too."

"A fugitive, then?" She looked up at him curiously, hands fiddling with the rope she tied Abner up with. Curiously, it wasn't one of Arnold's, it was stronger, younger. He wanted to ask where she had gotten it, but she was still speaking. "How did that happen?"

"Not sure, to be honest," he reached over to help her, his hands momentarily shrouding her smaller ones. Her knot wasn't formal, just a jumbled nest, but he made quick work of it anyway. "I will, however," he, maybe, let his fingers brush over the back of her palms as he released the rope, "let you know if I figure it out."

When her eyes met his again, he wondered if it were completely unreasonable to ask her to run away to northern kingdom with him. He would happily accept his own horse as dowry.

She was squinting at him, like she was considering him carefully, "yes, well…" She started walking down the path, towards the river. "We should get to the river, then."

* * *

Helga was trying her damndest not to be flustered with the heavy gaze of the shepherd boy, fugitive, Arnold- whatever, on her shoulders. He was his own brand of handsome, with perhaps an unusually large head and sandy, golden hair that fell into green eyes…

Not that she particularly had the attention of any man before, but having Arnolds?

It was making this odd warmth blossom in her chest, and as she led the horse along, she actually kind of wanted to skip. Or do an odd, joyous dance, or something…fugitive or not.

"So," he half jogged to catch up with her, "what had you in the wood so late, that you needed my horse to escape the giant…"

"I, um-" she swallowed, unsure of what to tell him, "I was…"

"Hey," he elbowed her, "I told you, when we met the first time. Of course, I wasn't completely honest with you…I wasn't so much meeting a girl, but looking for one," He rubbed at his neck, bashful suddenly, "I don't know what I was thinking…a wolf following a girl so I chase them? I'm no hunter, by any means…" he laughed.

Helga looked to him, his attractiveness amplified by his bravery, or perhaps stupidity. He was looking to protect Phoebe…and so was she. "I was looking for her, too." She told him.

"Huh!" he laughed, "small world."

"Small wood," she corrected, smile of her own spread across her face.

"You can say that again," Gerald annoyed voice was somewhat muffled by the river they had reached. He had stopped, dismounting the horse, holding the reins in one tight hand as he looked downstream, towards the bridge. Not unusually, if you squinted, you could just make out the bandit camp, sitting just over the bridge, illuminated by the lanterns that were always lit there. "How many do you think there are?"

"You're not suggesting," Arnold did a double take, "we fight them?! Are you?"

"Well, what would you like us to do, Arnold-" Gerald bickered back, and Helga tuned them out as she scoped out the river for herself.

Undoubtedly, there were people nestled at the base of the bridge, making it not a wonderful option, unless they liked losing their horses, and their weapons. She gently touched her dagger over her dress…she couldn't let that happen.

She wondered if she conjured up a bridge, if Gerald would notice it wasn't there before…but he had been looking at the river far longer than she had…he'd notice something amiss. Namely, a massive, convenient bridge, if one were just to...appear. It would be easier if they could just disappear for a moment, so Helga could not only save them, but perhaps, explore her power a little more... it seemed to work off of her desires but, it seemed like nothing in life really ever _worked_ that way...

It was then, she noticed, a boulder, dead set in the middle of the rushing river, with a trunk set to the other side. It seemed as if someone else had shared their predicament, and made a bridge of their own.

"Look," she pointed, "if we can just get to the rock," she felt Arnold grab her shoulders, looking excitedly over her head. "We can cross."

"We'd have to leave the horses," mentioned a wary Gerald.

"Gerald, they're exhausted," Arnold ran a hand along their head, "what use would they be?"

"Well, I'd still like to have my horse tomorrow-"

"Gerald, do you want to warn the Queen or not?"

Helga, growing tired of the bickering yet again, instead began roaming around, looking for a fallen log. She had discovered one further up the bay, nudging it with her foot, noticing it's sturdiness.

Arnold appeared by her side, "Geralds gone to tie them up in the wood…he'll return for them at sunrise." He told her, looking down at the log. "He'll be lucky to make it to the Queen by midnight." He licked his lips, "nice choice, shall we!?"

Helga's hands were rubbed raw already from the reins, and it was only worsened by the rough, unsanded wood. With great effort, they heaved it back up the shore, to where the boulder in the river lay. They only really had one shot to get their aim right, so it was lodge him by the boulder, and not float right up the river, so they counted, and as carefully as they could throw a very heavy log, tossed it into the river.

Where it wobbled a little bit, before being forced in to place by the weight of the river.

"Well," Arnold whistled, "I wish I could say I'm not surprised that worked, but…"

"I'm not," Helga replied honestly, looking up to him with a rueful little grin. "But, then again, you've just met me."

His face had taken on a grin of it's own, and he opened his mouth to say something- and perhaps his face was nearing hers…but then, he thought better of it, and stumbled back suddenly. Helga became suddenly aware that her face had flushed, she looked around, unsure of where to put her body.

"Shall I, um-" he coughed, rubbing a hand on his hair, "shall I go first? I suppose I have less to l- well, I guess I shouldn't say that." He rambled, nudging the log with his foot to dig it further into the dirt of the shore. Helga turned around quickly, awkwardly. She was, dare she say it, relieved to see Gerald jogging back in their direction. She waved at him, even though she knew he saw them.

Arnold crossed the log ungracefully, but successfully, with his arms out for balance. Helga, however, opted to go on her hands and knees, wincing at the filth of the log…she of course, could magic that away as soon as she was out of the company of Arnold and Gerald… Although, she didn't know when she planned on being out of Arnold's company… she had never seen another Kingdom before…

She heard Gerald clamor behind her on the log as she reached the slick rock, noticing how slippery it was. She tried to place her feet, in her boots, of course, on it first, finding her grip on the slick surface. Large hands came to rest on her forearms, certainly Arnold's, and he hoisted her to him, gently, and with great care.

The boulder wasn't large, and she felt Gerald come in close behind her. They stood tensely on the rock, the sounds of the river loud and rushing past. Arnold released, her, smiling a little bit, before tersely turning around, with tiny, little steps, to step on the other log.

However, when he stepped on it, with great care and certainly not with all of his weight, it cracked…

Helga nearly jumped into Gerald at the sound, but he stayed firm, and they watched with astute horror as Arnold extracted his foot in just enough time to watch the log float down the river. She grabbed the unstable Arnold by the arms so he didn't tumble straight into the river after it.

He did his shuffle back towards her, and spoke to the two of them, "we'll have to go back the oth-"

She thought she might have imagined it, but the river, the force of the rush of the water, was slowing …as if the river had run out of water at the source….

Or something was in it's way…

Gerald had himself almost turned around to step in the other direction, when the water returned, quicker than Helga had ever heard of a river moving, as if whatever blocked it had suddenly reappeared. She heard it, and looked to her side in horror, as it rushed towards them. She thought it would inevitably splash them clean off the rock…

She, with instinct, grabbed Arnold, and reached behind her to grab some piece of Gerald, bracing herself for impact.

The water, straight coldness in the already cool air of the night, hit them with no remorse, smacking at her all the way up to her hip. She would have been forced off the rock, but someone's arm blocked her fall.

She spluttered, already shivering in the cold, and looked down at the arm who had kept her on that rock.

It was actually Gerald's as he, instead of putting his foot on the log that Arnold and Helga had wedged there, had actually put it into the water, hooking it at the base of the boulder… Holding out his arm to keep Helga and Arnold on it with him.

He was soaking wet from head to toe, and already shaking… "What," he shook the curls out of his eyes, "was _that_!?"

Helga supported his arms so he could stand on wobbling legs.

"We're gonna have to jump," Arnold muttered, not answering Gerald's question. He looked up and down the river, both of their logs, gone. "There's no other way," he looked to Gerald.

"JUMP!?"

Helga did not want to tell the men on the rock of her witchcraft…she did not at all… She could imagine Arnold, his face, all the admiration he held for her falling out of his eyes to the floor. She was just beginning to see it as not an option so all of them could survive.

She looked to the other bank of the river, the direction they were originally headed. There was a tree damn near the bank of the river, with a lot of the root showing. There was rot at it's branches…it was undoubtedly weak.

"Our BEST BET-" Gerald was yelling, pointed in the direction they came from. "IS TO TRY AND JUMP UP, AND GRAB THAT BR-"

If she could only distract Arnold long enough to use her magic…

She looked up at him, and grabbed his face. He looked down, clearly alarmed, not at her, but likely by being stuck in the middle of a rushing river.

She threw caution to the wind and kissed him, quickly, aggressively, so she could tuck her hands behind his back.

Arnold made a surprised, muffled 'mm!" sound, but allowed himself to be kissed, or perhaps he was kissing her, Helga wasn't entirely sure how kissing worked. Their mouths were moving in some kind of motion, and she was trying to ignore the crackling, warmth in her chest, as he grabbed her waist. She cracked open one eye, noticing his were closed and used her hands behind his back, out of sight of Gerald, and made a crunching motion at the trunk of the tree.

"AND UNLESS EITHER OF YO-" Gerald trailed off, and he must've looked back in their direction, finally. "IS THIS THE TIME?!" He yelled at them.

CRASH!

The tree fell right into the river, still half connected to it's trunk, leaves already being lost in the rushing of the water. It didn't fall at the base of their rock, maybe two yards downstream… They would have to jump into the river, and pray they could grab a branch, to pull themselves on to the tree, and climb their way back to the shore.

Arnold jumped, nearly losing his footing on the rock, and stared at the tree.

"…if that ain't the magic," Helga felt her heart skip a beat, "of true love's kiss," it, traitorously, sped up at Gerald's words. "I don't know what is."

Arnold turned back to them with a grin, holding out a hand to Helga. Helga held out her hand to Gerald.

"Together?" He asked them, squeezing Helga's hand.

"Together." They agreed in unison.

* * *

Arnold held on to Helga tightly as the water hit their bodies, and he knew, blithely, that it was his responsibility to grab a hand on the tree. But it was more chaotic than he could have ever predicted, a mess of limbs and branches and trunks, and freezing water, shoving them down stream. He never managed to get himself full on the log, however, he had a grip on it, and was able to shuffle his way, blindly, from the water in his eyes, to shore. As he felt his feet touch the floor of the water, he could have cried with joy, or cried from the sheer amount of stuff in his eyes, and he felt Gerald's firm arms grab him, hoisting him the rest of the way out of the water.

He heard Helga's voice, further on the land, yelling instructions at Gerald…and they collapsed together on the shore.

Arnold pressed his face into the grass of the earth, so relieved to be on land…and with the two of them, all three safe.

They spluttered and coughed water out of their lungs on the land, he heard Helga dump the water out of her boots.

When Arnold finally put his chin on the earth, rubbed his eyes dry, and opened them, there were boots by his face, but not ones of his friends.

On the toe was the small sigil of the Queen… He looked up at the guard, who was leaned down to examine his face.

"Captain?!" He called downstream, to the base of the bridge. "We have him," Arnold tried to scramble away, but guards were grabbing at his arms, hoisting him, against his will, to his feet. His aching feet were then dragging along the grass, his arms held by two men. He wished he had more of the will to fight back, but he had never been so exhausted in his life. There were at least three of them, if not more.

It wasn't bandits at the base of the bridge he realized… it was the guard. He and Gerald's yelling must have alerted them. He hadn't even thought to look for them on the other shore. They had almost died for nothing…

Well, he looked at Helga's alarmed face, as he was dragged away, perhaps not nothing…

He heard the futile shouts of his companions as he was pulled back to wherever the Captain was, even Gerald warning of a giant.

The guard, however, paid them no attention.

He was surprised to be lifted into the back of a carriage, but he saw no use in fighting it, and he laid his head down on the soft cushion as he heard the clacking of horse hooves pull him away from his friends.

* * *

Helga, with an exhausted, angry slump, fell backwards into the earth. "We lost our shepherd," she said with a defeated sigh.

"WHAT," a fuming Gerald paced back and forth in front of her, "IS THE POINT OF GOVERNANCE, IF THEY DON'T LISTEN TO YOU."

"I don't know, Ger-"

The ground under them shook, subtly, but in an all too familiar way to Gerald and Helga. She sat up, and quickly realized what must've stopped the flow of the river…

Gerald held his hand down her, realizing the gravity of the situation, and helped her to, albeit, soggy, feet. As soon as she was on solid ground, Gerald took off into a sprint, further into the trees, down towards the path.

"GERALD?" She called after him, feeling as if she'd never be able to fully catch her breath again, "WHERE ARE WE GOING?!"

"THE QUEEN!" He called back to her, "WE HAVE TO SEE THE QUEEN." She didn't object, because if Gerald got to his damned Queen…

Well, perhaps, Helga could get to her Arnold…

* * *

They ran dangerously, off the path and through the wood again, as they had all night, towards the lights and the sounds of the festival the Queen was throwing. She had been running all night, but this seemed to be the longest stretch of it. She had no way of telling, but she knew had she had any food at all in her stomach, she would have likely vomited by now. The wind nipped at her like a pack of dogs, biting into her skin. Her boots she had loved so much rubbing at her heels in the wet leather all the wrong ways… They already ached, sores rubbing into them.

Gerald slowed, finally, heaving, and looking like he wasn't far off from vomiting himself, and she realized they had made their way to the edge of an upscale village… a deserted one, it's population likely at the festival.

This time, they hadn't been able to out run the feet of the giant, in fact, they grew ever nearer, thumping getting louder…but subtly so, in a way that probably only Helga and Gerald noticed, as they had been at the base of it's feet not long ago. It's head had not yet risen over the climb of the trees, but it must've been near to it. Helga realized it seemed to be walking with more direction, it's target must've been the castle itself.

"They'll never let us in there…" Gerald pointed, through the town, towards the gate, which was down at the moment, but heavily guarded. "LOOK at us." They weren't yet dry, and undoubtedly peasants, by their dress. "And of course…they'd never take the word of a peasant for anything but granted," he grumbled, sitting down with a frustrated sigh. Helga, for the last time, considered telling Gerald of her magic. The giant got nearer and time was short.

But instead, she ducked around the back of the nearest house, leaving him in his moody slump.

She wished she had given herself a moment to enjoy it, but there was little time. She didn't understand her magic, but it understood her. She used her own focus and energy, albeit frantically, and her tattered, wet robe changed itself into a gown. It was sparkling blue, glittering from the hem, pulling up into the skirt. She waved a hand at her head, feeling her hair dry under it, arranging itself. And lastly, she changed her shoes, grateful to be rid of the wet boots…changing them, instead, for matching, sparkling slippers. They fit her perfectly, melting around her feet the way she could only imagine glass would, forming and contouring specifically to the shape of her feet. She looked, with despair, at her bow, as she tucked her dagger back under her dress for safe keeping. She didn't want to go without it either, so with great care, she stuffed it under the completely poofy dress as well.

She looked through the window of the cottage, grander than any from her village, hardly a cottage at all, and there was a coat hanging in the window, a fantastic royal blue. She wiggled her fingers at it, and it appeared in her hands. She couldn't help it, she gave a delighted giggle at it. And then she looked around, because as it appeared…well, it had to go through somewhere. It smashed the window in front of her. She hoped the noise didn't draw alarm.

"Helga?!" She heard Gerald call, and well, his alarm would be fine. She rushed around the side of the cottage, smashing into Gerald, almost falling to the ground. He jumped up, backwards, in surprise, "where did you-" he looked up at her dress, "WHERE DID YOU-" She thrust the coat into his hands. He looked around in alarm, and then said in a low voice. "Did you _steal_ these?"

"There's no time!" She smacked him with annoyance, "you have a queen to warn!" _And I have a boy to find,_ she thought to herself. She ran down the path, towards the castle, ignoring his questioning calls about how she dried her hair, and if she could do his.

* * *

Gerald gave the guard one last shot at being decent at their job, and stopped to warn them, urging them to notice the minor quaking around their feet. Helga, however, after a polite wave at them that would suggest they would know who she is, took off in a full out sprint towards the castle.

"Sir," A guard grabbed his arm, and Gerald thought bitterly, that at least being sir was better than being a peasant, "have you had too much to drink?" He waved him off with an amused glint in his eye, "go, enjoy the coronation!"

Gerald, with annoyance, ran after Helga… coronation?

He could only think about how the ground was shaking more…it'd be mere moments before the guards were proven wrong, the giant would appear over the line of the trees in only minutes… He wanted to stay and watch them discover they were wrong, but he followed Helga, distantly, through the hall and into the ballroom anyway.

* * *

The palace was truly spectacular...Helga could see her face in the glass…she looked better than she ever had. She thought, only for a moment, it had something to do with the setting. Deep, maroon velvet decorated the place in luxury, ceilings arched, yards above her head, and portraits stared at her as she hurried into the ballroom. The door was heavy, but her tired muscles threw it open anyway, finding herself at the top of a staircase, as a loud voice announced.

"I am proud to present to you, for the first time, Queen Stella, the newly crowned King Miles, and their son, Prince Arnold." The room gave way to rapturous applause and hollers. Helga, with astonishment, leaned over the bannister, and sure as the hair on her head, a sheepish Arnold was sitting, in clean clothes, looking alarmed himself, at a seat beside the throne. Helga's mouth fell open in shock. "Now, if you will join us all on the balcony, there will be a performance of the harp, but of course, not our newest…" the room laughed, still clapping. Had he lied, or had he genuinely not known?

HOW could he not know!?

Arnold looked up, and his eyes met Helga's.

He stood quickly, "wait," she saw him say, he grabbed the sleeve of whom he could only assume was his father, "that's h-"

"GIANT!" He was interrupted by Gerald, who yelled as he opened the doors of the ballroom. "THERE'S A GIANT IN YOUR KINGDOM!" He screamed at the royalty…to the giggles of the crowd.

"Son," the Prime Minister stood, "if there was a giant in our Kingdom…" he eyed Gerald from the small stage the ballroom offered. "Oh," He laughed, "it's you again."

The room laughed, too, as if there was some big joke they all found funny. Gerald fumed next to Helga, turning red. They were all there was to focus on, them at the top of the staircase. A laugh stock, practically. Helga could understand his fury, she felt it a little, too. They had come all the way across the kingdom, and they were being laughed at. A man near the bottom of the stairs mimiced Gerald, greatly to the amusement of his peers. Helga felt herself pull a fist by her side.

"Guard," The Minister spoke to the man beside him, "if you'll deal with him-" The guard made his way towards the stairs. "SO, if you'll all join us…"

The ground, with the most fortitude Helga had noticed it had all night, shook. Like a beat, the next shake was worse. The well dressed, filthy rich, people in the room screamed. Helga hated them. She hated every one of them. They could feed their entire village for a year with the money from one of their outfits, probably.

There were sounds of shouts, aside from the ballroom, heard from outside, as the beat stopped for a moment…and then a tremendous crunch…

The giant must have stepped on the gate, and then the castle. The walls shook, and velvets fell from the ceiling, candles dropping and breaking. Gerald grabbed on to Helga, as if he could protect her from a giant. She shoved him off of her with an annoyed glare. They turned around as they heard the stone crumbling from the wall behind them, all ominously, because they could not yet see the giant. The guard scrambled around on the floor, preparing lines of men, but men with swords, men not at all prepared to fight a giant.

And then the ripping continued above them, and they watched in horror as the giant ripped the stone ceiling from it's walls.

People shrieked, and ran chaos reigned over the ballroom as they ran for cover from the crumbling stone and limestone falling from the sky. A final, enormous thud was had, as the giant managed to throw the bulk of the roof to the side of the castle, and Helga could guess from the horrified screams, on to the guard.

"YOU-" A rumbling voice from above shouted, Helga getting a first good look at the giant. It was a woman, as far as she could tell, her tawny hair falling into her face, held up in the back in the forms of massive clips, clustered with jewels the size of Helga. The giant could leer into the ballroom, leaning right over Gerald and Helga… She wouldn't be able to align a lethal shot, not from that angle, and she couldn't risk to use her magic in a room full of people. "YOU HAVE BROUGHT ME NOTHING BUT PAIN" she reached down, and gripped the King and Queen a mighty fist. "AND CHAOS. CHAOS TO MY KINGDOM." The room was engulfed in screams and terror, and the guard had slashed at her wrists as she pulled the royalty to her…to no avail. Helga thought, for one, terrifying moment, that her other hand was going to grab Arnold. She reached under her skirt, and pulled out her bow, formulating a plan in her mind as quickly as she could move. Above the throne, a massive clock struck midnight. Helga paid no attention, attempting to equip her bow with shaking hands… and then she noticed her hands...

Crawling up her hands were rows of scales, not the green of Mordred's, but her own, sparkling, gruesome, dark, iridescent pink…but they were getting darker. She realized, with absolute horror, what Mordred meant by midnight. He heart shattered in her chest, and quickly, before he would notice, threw the bow into his hands. He was stammering a question at her, but she clutched the arrow she had in her hand and did as she was coming quite good at, completely ignored him.

With another leap of great faith, she stood on the bannister, as the people screamed at the giant, and jumped directly upwards, in an attempt to grab hold of the giant's shirt, made of a fabric Helga had never seen before.

Her hands nearly slipped, but her finger nails had sprouted thick, black, claws, that dug into the shirt. She swung at the side of the giant, trying to bring her feet up to dig in as well. One of her shoes fell down as she tried to right herself into the fabric, wiggling her foot around. It swung away from her, before falling straight into a pile of velvet on the stairs, safe.

She clawed her way up the giant, around the back, hoping that in her wrath, the giant wouldn't notice the tickling making it's way up her back. Helga grabbed on to one of the massive clips, sitting atop it, fiddling with the arrow in her one hand, trying to use her magic with the other.

"AND NOW, YOU WILL KNOW WHAT IT IS, TO FEEL PAIN." She heard the horrified screams of people, and a tremendous crack…the giant must've dropped the Queen and her husband. Helga's hands shook harder, but the arrow lit, finally, in her hand, in a burst of flame.

She shoved it into the back of the giant's skull.

"AND NOW I-" she stopped, and Helga slid down the hair that was beginning to be engulfed in flame… grabbing on to a necklace at the base of her neck, for her life. The giant let out a blood curdling scream, reaching for the back of her head, beginning to lose her footing, and Helga realized with fright, she had lost it. The giant, and herself, began to fall backwards.

* * *

Gerald clutched on to the bow with terror as the giant fell…as flames engulfed the top of her head. The people gave a great shout of fear for a moment when she might fall forward, but it was backwards it went, with a mighty, thunderous, crash. He looked around, astonished at the suddenly silent room.

"It was him," a meek voice came out from the eerie silence, and then a shaking hand, pointing in his direction. "IT WAS HIM," Gerald wondered, fearfully for a moment if he should run. "HE SAVED US." She cheered at him, pointing her shaking hand at his bow. "HE SHOT THE GIANT!" The room looked up at him, considered him, the boy they didn't know…the boy they laughed at. And then, they erupted in thunderous applause.

He looked down to Arnold who smiled, for only a second, while clapping for him along with the crowd. "WHERE IS HELGA?" Arnold mouthed at him, and Gerald looked backwards, with great fright, and then at the door behind him, which likely no longer led anywhere, and then bolted down the stairs to Arnold. He slipped the quiver over his shoulder, kept the bow firmly in his hand, and prayed he wouldn't need to use it…he didn't know how.

* * *

When the giant fell, she collapsed into several more houses. Helga had swung herself around the necklace with great force, and she fell directly on top of the giant. The ruble erected a great cloud of gray smoke, and Helga sat up, hacking out bits of stone pieces from her lungs, into her nearly blood-red, scaled hands…they were terrifying…so was she, she imagined.

"You," the giant was mangled badly, and the fire was set out in the fall… but the back of her head was smashed into two different buildings. It was grotesque, a river of blood flowing from her skull. "You bested me, little one." He hand came up to grab her, but with exhaustion, and the giant moved her off her stomach. "Let me die in peace," Her English was slow and deliberate, as if it weren't the giant's first language…Helga wondered, momentarily, what the language of the giants was.

The giant dropped her gently to the ground out of the way of the river of blood. She seemed so solemn, so sad, that Helga ran her hands along her thumb nail as she set her down. "I'm sorry," She spoke loudly, truthfully, "I thought you were going to kill my…my…" she searched for the proper word to use, "my someone."

The giant, with a seemingly massive amount of effort, moved her graying face to look at Helga. Her eyes were a sparkling stone color…her face was flat and square. "They," She coughed, small spatterings of blood appearing about her mouth, "they killed _my_ someone. They took everything I had."

Helga felt tears spring up in her eyes. She felt ridiculous, at herself, at her hands and their grotesqueness, at her ballgown and her tiara… The giant soothed her giant thumb over Helga's head.

"There was nothing left for me," she told her, "I am happier to die at your hands, than to die at theirs." Helga latched on to the thumb, rounder than she was, and she hugged it tightly, letting tears spill down her face. She hugged it, and she wept, until it fell slack and heavy under her grip. She released it, and let it drop from her arms. She reached up to wipe away her tears, and realized, that the scaly monstrosity had continued up her face, the way Modred's had. Her hands shook harder, and she let out a sound that was both a gasp and a sob, collecting her horrible face in her hands.

She looked at the destroyed palace, at the people beginning to gather outside of it, and felt her hatred and resentment build up in her chest. She would have never killed the giant for the likes of her queen had she known…and Arnold…well, he'd never love her now.

And so, feeling foolish, feeling _weak_ , she picked up the hem of her enormous dress, and ran, with one shoe on her foot, away from the palace. She hoped the wind would knock tears streaming down her face straight away, because she never wanted to look at her own hands _again_. And as she ran she clutched her dress, feeling it melt away into a thick, velvet cloak... the color of a robin's egg.

* * *

a/n remember when i said this chapter was going to be shorter...ha...hahahah.

thanks for reading love u & thank u to everyone who said nice things on the last chapter, let me know what u think of these twists, did u see any of them coming? i know one of you did, haha. it really does mean the world to me!

can you bElieve this is basically a PROLOGUE: insanity, ok, hah, love u, bye!


	3. Chapter 3

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

"Morrow," Helga shoved open the door of their cottage.

It was overwhelmed by sights and smells, textures and various clanging. The musty smell of ale creaked in the floorboard, splashed into the woodwork after one too many spills, mixing with a tantalizing scent, maybe turkey, coming from Phoebe's cook top. Helga shirked off her cloak, hanging it amongst the others, the thick tweed one and the one knit of the lamb's wool, and of course, Phoebe's red velvet cape. Tones of autumn hung in their cottage year round, muted oranges, yellows, reds and purples. Warmth, in every nook and cranny, weird trinkets and offerings and mix-matched tapestries. In one corner hung to dry were Helga's notes on what she'd discovered, thick purple ink collected from seashells in a language of Helga's design. Next to that sat was an overstuffed bookcase, filled with books of magic and runes people had traded away to her in exchange for favors. Their beds were shoved into the back corner of the cottage, covered in thick knits and a few scarce furs, next to their small fire place.

That fireplace was about as filled as it could afford to be, with a cast iron cauldron with a bubbling, stew-ish liquid simmering inside. Standing over it, with dirt on her cheek and a smile on her mouth, was Phoebe.

"Where have you got yourself to, then?" Phoebe stood up, wiping her hands off on her patch-work apron. Helga had offered perhaps a fortnight's worth of time to procure her a new one. She always refused, it was her Mother's. Her parents, as far as Helga knew, were still in good health, they merely had a spat when Phoebe came to join her in the cottage. Phoebe had managed to live a half decade without aging a day, young eyes squinting at her in the dim light of the dusk. Her cheek smudged with ash, her hair collected on her head with a ribbon.

"If I answered honestly," Helga smirked at her, borrowing the light of the fire for her oil lantern, "would you worry?"

"Probably."

"Then it best goes unsaid, doesn't it?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes, then reached up into their window sill to unclip the herbs she had been drying there.

Phoebe, like Helga, had a sudden disdain for marrying, for entirely different reasons than Helga, of course. When Helga returned to visit her in the village, she asked to come with her. Now she made her life as a cook of sorts, stewing away and drying and curing meats. She was a healer, in Helga's humblest opinions. Somehow her stews and mixtures brought more life to the skin than any spell of Helga's.

"Have you noticed, then," Helga sauntered around Phoebe, grabbing a ladle to serve herself from the cauldron.

"Noticed what?"

"When the tosser from the guard paraded by today, did you see it?" Helga began the somewhat tedious work of unfastening her boots. She still hadn't developed a finite control over her magic, it could never handle something as delicate as buckles and laces.

"Did he see us?!" Phoebe looked up, alarmed.

"Of course not," Helga scoffed. She squinted at her best friend. "After all these years, you're still doubting my magi-" It had been an accident when Phoebe learned. Helga couldn't help the wary feeling she still had little faith in it. Or trust, rather. Two very similar feelings given different names.

"Sorry, sorry. Of course not," Phoebe rubbed her hands clean as Helga sat on their table. "What was it, then?"

"Seems like the King has come into money?" She wiggled her toes, willing the tiniest bit more feeling to return to them. She watched Phoebe return to the pot, then pause.

Phoebe looked up with a furrowed brow, "what is that supposed to mean?"

"Giant bow, enormous. Strung across his back, probably made of solid silver."

"Has Gerald gotten any better at using a bow?"

"I don't know, but aren't you excited?"

"For what, exactly?"

"I'm gonna get myself a new bow."

"Oh, Helga," Phoebe put a tired hand on her forehead, "for heaven's sake."

* * *

"No," Eduardo corrected carefully, grabbing his spoon from him. "That's the stew spoon."

"Will there be a stew?" Arnold asked grumpily, slumping into his hand.

"No." Eduardo told him gently.

"Then why, in God's name, would we possibly need a-"

Eduardo wheezed then, likely at Arnold's irritation, chuckles shaking his shoulders as he slumped into the chair across from Arnold. "Arnold, _I don't know_ ," he laughed into his hand, "Dear God, boy, if you spent half the time learning as you did arguing about the rules of etiquette, we could have ended these lessons years ago."

"Stop laughing at me," Arnold mumbled, resembling a petulant child.

"No."

It was only a moment before Arnold was laughing, too.

It had been a long five years as King, or a boy King, as he was so commonly referred to by Thomas, charmingly so. He slumped up, into his palm, staring longingly at the portrait of his mother hung over the fireplace.

"Stop that thought right there, Sire." Eduardo stood up, dusting some dust off the corner of his suit. "Had she been here to teach you, the process would have been even more so hopeless. Your mother had a gift for etiquette the way elephants have gifts for ball-room dancing."

Arnold snorted, a fond smile dropping on his mouth.

He would have loved to have known her, even at all. He had only met her in a moment, a deep hug and tears before he was whisked off to bathing chambers, being promised time to truly meet her, to know her, later. He felt robbed of those few hours with her, having spent them on soap and itchy collars.

He would have loved if his dad had lived long enough to have a portrait at all.

He felt like he had come to know them, a little bit, through his mother's library. She had a gift for archives, and there was mischief in every corner of the grand room. Tomes and records on every subject Arnold could imagine and it had been incredibly frustrating to him that he had to learn to read before he could even set his fingers on any of them. He had done so with fervor, and passion, for the first year there, and spent the four subsequent years pouring over anything and everything his mind could comprehend.

He, of course, like all readers, had a favorite shelf. He glanced at it quickly.

While most of the books in his mother's library were intricate and beautiful, with carefully crafted spines and collected pages, this shelf was not so. The books were hastily bound on scraps of leather with messy ties, the ink was smudged and the grammar was...interesting.

These were his father's journals.

And his words had to be some sort of part of him, didn't they?

Eduardo caught his eye as he looked away from the shelf. He smiled, a slow, sad, quirk of the mouth. "Let's call it quits for today, shall we?" Kind eyes, warm brown and turned at the corners, sunk into his.

Arnold ran his thumb along his forehead, "yes, please." He spared another glance for the shelf.

As deeply as he loved it, and he did, the details of the scandal. Or, scandal to some. A girl meets a shepherd boy. Boy and girl have a child, guess who, and turn it over to the boy's parents. Because, surprise, the girl turns out to be a Princess, who has a father who would never grant her hand to the shepherd boy. The shepherd boy promises to bring value, greatness to the Kingdom. The King asks him to prove it. He tries, relentlessly, for years.

And that's when the story cut off.

Arnold glanced up at Eduardo, thick lines cutting into tired, tan skin. His mother's best friend, her formal Royal advisor, the son of the retired Captain of the Guard. He had quickly become, well, if Arnold called him his closest friend he would find himself smothered by Gerald within moments, but by far his biggest advisor. He knew there was a journal missing, Arnold knew it. Eduardo told him that his father struck a clever deal with a King of another land for the harp, and won. He brought the harp back, and glory, and it was settled, he would be King. There were pieces of the story missing, namely: a giant. He couldn't help but feel hurt by the entire thing. Did Eduardo not trust him? To keep whatever secret his parent's began, or worse…

Did Eduardo simply fear his reaction?

And then, the doors to the library flung open, and in walked the headache of the century. He was doing his asinine walk, more akin to a strut of a proud horse, holding the ornate red pillow, once again.

They had had this conversation before, as the incident had happened two weeks ago. Thomas, the Prime Minister, was not keen to let it go.

When his mother's father was near to passing away, there was little option to crown his mother as Queen without a marriage. This was an outrage to the people, namely: the rich ones, but a haughty board of Dukes and Dutchesses struck a compromise with their former King. Stella would be crowned Queen, and a parliament would form of the aristocracy, and elect a Prime Minister. A Prime Minister named Thomas, who had share in dealings of the Kingdom. And dealings in being the biggest ass imaginable.

"It's an embarrassment, Arnold." He huffed irritably, throwing the pillow down on the table, yet again.

They were having a thief problem, admittedly. Arnold knew it wasn't exactly the best thing for the reputation of his name, that a thief had managed to steal his crown. It was pawned at auction weeks later, scouted by the guard, and currently crossing the kingdom to return itself to Arnold by the day's end. It hadn't arrived yet, and was driving Thomas, therefore Arnold, insane.

Thomas was concerning himself, as of late, with the arrival of royal guests. Therefore, etiquette lessons, and crown mussings, and headaches were more rampant than ever.

"Right, well." Arnold had an increasingly growing headache and was feeling irritable already, then he was getting chased around his chambers by Thomas. Arguably the most prattish, frustrating Prime Minister that had ever walked on soil.

"I've taken it upon myself to grant Gerald a new bow-"

"You've done _what-_ "

"So that he might take this manner to the full extent of the law." Thomas preened lecherously, and how he managed to remain so utterly clueless was simply beyond Arnold.

"You…" Arnold squinted at him, and then huffed away. He paced back and forth in front of the table in the hall. Gerald could barely shoot the bow he had, not that the people knew it. He was, after all, accredited as the Great Giant Slayer and the apprentice to the Captain of the Guard. His lack of talent with a bow and arrow when demonstrated was really quite astounding, and the last thing the kingdom needed to catch a thief was to give Gerald a new bow.

"He, the thief, he _took the King's crown_ , Arnold." Thomas said with a spectacular sense of urgency to a man who could hardly care.

 _It wasn't my father's crown,_ Arnold thought to himself bitterly. _Or mine._

Thomas took the silence from Arnold as a sign that his statement had taken an appropriate amount of ground from him. "Very well then," Thomas straightened, "reminder that the Sawyers arrive this evening. Please look your best." He straightened out a bowl on the table. "I will have everything set for the engagement in the garden." The bowl was filled with figs. They weren't particularly ripe. Their kingdom didn't produce the ripest fruit, not anymore.

"The engagemen-" He began to spit out at Thomas' audacity but was, as he so oft was, interrupted.

"This marriage will be the best thing for the Kingdom since," Thomas paused, giving him an odd, snide look, "well, you know."

"No," Arnold crossed his arms and leaned against a grand window, "I don't. Will you explain it?"

"Don't be a child, Arnold. You owe a lot to this kingdom to right the wron-"

"Right the wrongs of my parents," he repeated monotonously. "I know."

"Right then, shall we go with lilies for Lila?" Thomas said to himself as he sauntered out of the room, and then laughed at his own cleverness.

Arnold took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly.

Then picked up that bowl of figs and promptly threw it at a wall.

Eduardo, who had sat himself in a corner in an over-stuffed armchair, looked down at the figs, raised an eyebrow, and then looked to Arnold. "Must we take it out on the fruit, Sire?"

Arnold, in spite of himself, laughed.

* * *

Helga was stomping through the wood, headed nowhere in particular. She was headed to market, not to be in plain view, mind you- but to skim the outskirts. Her face made it difficult to be seen at all. The scales had not been a temporary problem, and she really wasn't naive enough in the first place to hope they'd be. They remained, dark pink, crawling up her cheeks and down her nose, which was now upturned and serpentine. She was, or felt like, a monster. So she wore her hood low in the market, and went for the edges. There were always the others: hiding in shadows, promising fancies of far-away lands and witchcraft. Only once or twice one had a tome of even unremarkable use to her. Those few books made the journey worth her time. Plus, Phoebe needed thyme, so there was that.

Helga, not so much. So far as she could tell, she had time enough in front of her.

She wished she had gone with a less vibrantly noticeable colored cloak when she was able to changing things at her will. A brown or muted red. Now, especially when she was dropping off rations, she was spotted and responded to with great cries of excitement for "Robinhood!" She would take it, certainly, as excitement is much better than other varying options, but it was making remaining inconspicuous more difficult than ever. And for some damned reason, she couldn't managed to get the cloak to change colors.

Her powers remained mysterious to her, nearly as unmanageable as they ever were. Transfiguration had come to her as easily as sneezing to a newborn on the day her magic came to her. Now, it seemed distant, and impossible. Any time she managed to change anything into anything else, they were nearly identical in shape and size, and it took hours, even under the guidance of the book she had been traded in exchange for her assistance.

Her thoughts, and meandering walk through the wood, were interrupted, by the unmistakable clatter of royal coaches. There were down the path in the distance, headed her way. She could see the lush white and gold detailing from afar. Beautiful, but not from their kingdom.

Because now she was a degenerate thief, and she was also curious, she gripped the bottom of two different trees, crushing a piece of the trunk, and let them fall in front of her, effectively creating a block in the path, and then fled, hiding in the trees.

As the coaches came to a screeching halt, there were only three, far less than usual, and they were more decrepit than distance revealed to her. The paint was peeling, the metal was rusting. The grandest was in the center, likely carrying the royalty themself.

Had she seen the state of the coaches, she might have not caused the disturbance, as she wasn't entirely sure they any longer had anything worth her time. She still knocked down the emergent men more gently than normal, they'd only be out for a few moments, at most. She approached the back carefully, throwing the small coachman at the back of the cargo to the ground, ignoring his groan of pain, stepping into the cargo hold.

It was more dusty and worn than any royal coach she had stolen from before. She still picked through it, because she had come that far. She picked out a small jewelry box from the back, it sparkled on the inside with gaudy jewels, and that was something worth the trouble. She hopped from the back effortlessly, ready to make her escape.

"STOP!" A shrill voice came from behind her, undoubtedly female, and turned, cautiously, around, clutching the box closer to herself.

A girl had emerged from the center cabin. She was wearing a sweeping dress, light green, that fluttered just midway down her calf. She wore an ornate velvet vest over her floating dress, and her crimson hair was delicately braided out of her face, and the rest hung loose around her shoulders. She had the soft, gentle features that Helga had envied so feverishly even before she had the scale problem.

"That box you have," she stepped down. "There's a ring inside of it. It's not worth much, it's got a pearl, set in silver with two diamonds on either side." Helga opened the box curiously. It was tucked away, in the corner, in a wooden box. "I need it. Please. I have to be married."

"Get another ring," Helga snapped the box shut, lacking any real pity for royalty.

"It was my mother's, please." The girl with the sparkling eyes begged. Helga felt her heart stop. She longed to have anything, even a hairpin, of her mother's. She tentatively crossed to Lila, opening the box for her gently.

"Raise your hood, please." The girl asked gently, but with the subtle command of royalty.

Helga nearly snapped the box shut and ran, but resumed her temperament. "Why should I?" She muttered aggressively, under her hood.

"I should like to see the person whom I'm talking to." The girl responded, sounding kind.

Keeping one hand firm on the box, Helga raised her hood. She only really did it to see the girl's face twist up in horror as she approached.

The girl, with a great deal of effot, only had a reaction that consisted of the twitch of the eyebrows.

"My name is Lila, this was my mother's wedding ring." Lila told her as Helga opened the box, "Thank you."

"I just stole from you. I'm a _thief_." Helga corrected aggressively, practically growling at the girl.

"I know you could have just ran with the box. So, I thank you." She retrieved the box, obviously relieved, and clutched it to her heart. "What's yours?"

The word Helga almost rolled off her tongue. Her old name, the one she despised in the first place. Hell-ga ran out in her head every time she heard it. "Robinhood." She replied curtly.

"Thank you, Robinhood." Lila replied, with one last look to the rest of the jewelry in the box. Lila wasn't wearing anything similar to the content of the box. They were all large and clunky, heavy with gems and crystals. "You're uh, not planning to wear this stuff, are you?"

Had Helga's guard been any less up, she would have laughed. In fact, Lila's amusement at the box caused her to have the tiniest quirk of the mouth. "No," she admitted. She hadn't had a conversation this long with anyone but Phoebe in years, and for some reason she was coming to trust this Lila person, clearly from nobility, in a matter of moments. "I'm not."

She looked up. Lila was thin, thinner than fashionable. Her face was pale but splotchy, her eyes were a brilliant shade of green, but tired. Her hair was thin at the ends, her wrists showed veins. Lila was ill, Helga knew that much. Helga trusted her, for some reason, she knew that much, too.

"I sell it," Helga ran her hands over the sparkling jewels, "and I buy rations for our people." She admitted, noticing how her talons were reflected in some of the larger gems. "Our kingdom is," she swallowed thickly, "not doing well."

She looked up and Lila's eyes were wide, with a mix of concern and understanding. Lila reached up and snapped the box closed. She shoved it further, barely possible, into Helga's arms.

"Then take it." She stated succinctly. Helga looked up into her eyes once again. "As a gift." She told her, small power in her tiny movements as she patted the top of the box. "With my blessing."

Helga took a few wary steps backwards, suddenly worried to turn her back to Lila. She hadn't met a person with kindness in her like that in a long time, and she began to doubt if it even existed at all.

Lila waved good-bye as she walked backwards carefully. She cleared her throat, but maintained her wave, and spoke clearly "you are no thief, Robinhood."

Helga, dumbfounded, feeling her heartbeat in her throat, nodded tightly. Lila smiled at her. She couldn't make her mouth smile back, so she turned, on heel, to run back into the forest.

She was only a few steps in before she heard another cry of "WAIT!"

Helga ducked her head out from behind a tree. Lila had walked over to her men. "They'll wake up, won't they?'

Helga nodded, tightly, again.

"You must be very strong." Lila complimented, and Helga marveled at the girl's ability to make just about anything sound positive.

Helga nodded.

Lila waved again, a clear dismissal, smile once again gracing her mouth, bringing warmth to Helga's chest. Helga stared for just a moment longer. "You have lovely eyes," Lila told her earnestly, and Helga couldn't take it, the girl was too damned strange, and she disappeared into the forest. She heard Lila's laugh, light and full of mirth, behind her. Certain she was out of sight, Helga couldn't help it.

She smiled.

* * *

To be entirely fair, it was a rare occasion that Arnold ever exactly knew what to do with his hands, but Gerald couldn't help but pity his friend and feel like at this time he was floundering more than usual.

Lila, his future bride if Thomas had anything to do with it, was every bit as beautiful as it was promised she was when she entered the castle that day. But she was more pale, more frail. She looked down-right ill. She disappeared the moment after she entered, and only came out for a meal.

Her father, however, was warm, and jolly, and they all shared dinner together. Arnold made polite conversation with Lila, who looked no further away from vomiting than she had when she walked in. Arnold made a face at Gerald, who shrugged in response.

Gerald had also never married, hardly courted, and could hardly be considered a confidant in that situation.

Gerald could barely watch, so he made merry conversation with the Lila's father, the King of the neighboring kingdom. He was fascinated with Gerald's new bow. Gerald prayed he wouldn't ask for a demonstration, but the more wine the man downed, and it was a pitcherful, the more likely it seemed.

Gerald turned his attention back to the table, thanking the staff as they cleared the plates.

"Would you like to see a tour of the gardens?" Thomas leered across the table as the dinner concluded. "Master Shortman would love to-"

"I'd like to catch an early evening," Lila replied politely, but curtly. She stood up from the table quickly, helping the young maid behind her reach her plate gently. "Thank you for a lovely meal," she said kindly to Arnold, patting his hand as she resigned from the room.

Thomas looked appalled, but her father laughed, and ordered another round of wine. Arnold shot Gerald an alarmed look. Gerald laughed into his cuff.

* * *

Helga had broken into the castle that night. It was almost painfully easy to steal the bow. Gerald was an awfully heavy sleeper. She now had it thrust over her back, and was making her escape. She pressed her back into the wall as close as she could manage, with the bow clumsily pressing into her spine. She could have given the royalty the kindness of waiting till their guests left down. But they had paid their kingdom no kindness in the last five years. Helga had no kindness left in her fingertips for the royalty.

She looked one way down the hall, then the other, enjoying the rush of the watch flowing past, not noticing her in the shadow. She turned to run then, past the doorway.

She was apprehended by large arms and heavy hands, and her face slammed painfully into the floor.

She wanted to screech but didn't want to draw any further attention to herself at the same time. She threw her hands backwards, behind herself, trying to push her energy so her attacker would come off her person. She couldn't focus it properly, and now they had her hands in theirs. She thrashed violently. She felt the holster attached to her thigh come loose, and her heart died in her throat.

She stopped struggling against her assailant and starting wiggling so the dagger would stay with her if she got picked up.

She was grabbed by the back of her cape, choking aggressively, and then her back was slammed against the floor once again. The bow jammed harshly into her back, and she howled in pain.

The dagger fell out of the hem of her dress, and her power was gone.

Her hood fell over her face, thankfully, as she felt the tip of a knife graze across her chest. Wary, unsure. Their weight pressed heavily into her, and she groaned. A hand pressed into her stomach, her arms were painfully crossed behind her back. She didn't know if she could die like this or not. She doubted it, but whoever was on top of her could inflict horrible pain, at the least.

"STOP!" A screaming voice came from down the halls, "I command you to STOP."

Helga breathed into the velvet lining of her cape, knowing the voice was Lila's.

"Princess, I-" her breath caught again in her throat. The person on top of her, was in fact, Arnold. She pressed her face into the floor, twisting her neck painfully, so that the cape might catch her sob. At least he had come out to kill her himself.

"OFF OF HER, IMMEADIATELY, ARNOLD, OR I SWEAR IN THE NAME OF-"

The weight was off of her, and she scrambled to her feet, fearing she looked like a wild animal. She held her hands out warily, even if they were no longer of great use to her. She saw her dagger, but in Lila's hands. She blinked, underneath her deep hood, knowing they couldn't see her face if she couldn't see theirs. She could only see the lower half of Lila, in her sleeping gown, holding out her dagger warily.

"Please," she choked out, voice thin and raspy, "drop the dagger."

"Lila, don't hurt yoursel-" Arnold sounded concerned, stepping towards her.

"HURT MYSELF?!" Lila sounded offended at the mere thought.

Helga let her hand uncurl in front of her, keeping her head tilted low. Lila had seen her face, but Arnold had not. She feared Arnold would take one look at her and know of the sorcery, kill her on sight. "Please, return my dagger."

"Lila, hand that to me, please." Arnold begged.

Lila, seemingly indignant at the idea of Arnold telling her what to do, set the dagger carefully in Helga's hand. Arnold gasp. "Relax, boy-King," Helga grumbled. Her fingers, long, pointed into talons at the end, curled around it, and she then made quick work of refastening it to her thigh. "It's away."

"Right, then." Arnold then seemed to make an earnest attempt at valiancy. Helga found it laughable, as his chest puffed up. She could still not quite see his face under her hood. "Return that bow to me!"

"This bow belongs every bit to me as it does to your captain of the idiots." She said defiantly, retreating into his room, knowing there would be a grand window there. She hurried quickly towards it, stepping up into it, grabbing the side of the pane as she thrust it open. She crouched in the hollow of the window, ready to make her escape. She looked up, to the side, to his grand wardrobe.

On the top of it, sat her own shoe. Glittering in the light. Every girl in the kingdom had tried it on, it hadn't fit. She had heard of the story. He looked for Helga, but the Helga he knew was dead.

"Then you have no knowledge of property." He replied haughtily, and she turned her head so quickly her hood flew up, and behind her head. Her face was exposed, and he recoiled, and thrust out a protective arm over Lila. She grabbed onto it, looking sad, and pitiful, for Helga. Her face was an apology for Arnold's behavior.

Her eyes met his for the first time in five years.

For a moment, she thought about it. She could commit the ultimate act of treason, and end his life right in front of her. In front of her, in front of his probable fiancee.

He'd deserve it.

The King deserved it.

Arnold, the shepherd boy, with rough hands and soft eyes?

She had no idea.

She thought she knew him once.

She thought wrong.

"Your villagers are starving." She pointed a finger out at him from under the cloak, "crops have come in poorly for years, the animals we have left can't eat, and you take what little dollar they have and twist it," she twisted her empty hand in the air, and a twist was created on Arnold's tunic, as if she had her fist balled up in it. "And ring it dry," she tightened it, "and spend it on bows for guardsmen who can't shoot. After, of course, you spent it rebuilding yourself a castle."

She released him finally. He took a heaping breath.

"Step outside of your castle." She grabbed on to the wall ofthe exterior castle, "and stop being so selfish when your people are dying."

And then, she was gone.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Arnold said, as soon as the thief was gone. Lila turned to him, surprised, eyebrows quirked up. "I didn't mean to sound condescending about the dagger," he crossed the room quietly, padding in his socks, to shut the window to keep the bitter cold night out.

Lila laughed, then. "It's quite alright."

"That thief has been terrorizing the castle for years now. And now, I will never hear the end of that bow thing." He sat grumpily, un-King-like, at the edge of his bed. He hated being King. He never wanted to be King. Or woo this girl into marrying him with dashing good looks and charming phrases. If she didn't want to marry grumpy, petulant, sitting on his bed him, then she didn't want to marry all of him, and he didn't want to marry her. "I...had no idea it was a girl."

"It!?" Lila sounded mildly appalled, but came to sit beside him anyway. "She is a person, regardless." She corrected gently, sinking to sit next to him. It was horribly improper, and he was beginning to think maybe they could work, after all. They sat together in relative, comfortable silence. His heart rate began to settle.

Then, she began to hack horribly into her sleeve, and he hastily grabbed a handkerchief to offer her from his bed-side table.

"Thank you," she replied gently, resting a delicate hand on his. She seemed so frail.

And that's when she began to speak. About her mother's passing. About her father's relentless feud with his brother, and his family, and how they desperately wanted the throne. That her biggest fear was failing to marry and disappointing her father. Arnold had no way for measuring time, so he had no idea when it began, and no idea when it began to come to a close, but it seemed like hours. Hours of conversation with a girl who listened and never got to speak.

"You shouldn't fear," Arnold politely interrupted, "marrying, Lila," a small smile crossed his face. "You're wonderful," he enthused, running his hand over hers. He tried to keep from noticing how his heart panged in his chest at the action. She was everything he could have asked for, lovely, and smart and kind, and she wasn't Helga. He tried his hardest and failed to keep from sparing a glance for the shoe on his wardrobe. But she, as far as he knew, was gone. Entirely gone.

Her hand gripped his, and she looked up to him, in between his eyes, clearly deciding what she wanted to say. He desperately wanted her to say the truth, the first thing she thought, so he remained steady, still.

"I'm dying, Arnold." She replied then, quietly, her voice choking at the end. "I'm not sure I'd make it to a wedding, let alone," she fell into his chest, and he wished, he wished so strongly he could feel it physically press into his mind, that it were more of a romantic gesture for either of them. "Giving you a child," she choked out, tears seeping into his shirt.

He held her head, cradled it with his hand, and tried to keep from crying, too.

* * *

"It has to be here," he muttered to himself bitterly. He hadn't slept at all. When Lila finally quieted enough to sleep, horrible hacking interrupting her dreams, he left her in his bed, and hurried to his parents library. Books on healing had entire bookshelf, and he dug through them, but couldn't place the systems. His table was filled, every corner with notes and books and he was not a step closer to finding an answer.

"Dear God, boy." Eduardo commented from the door, and Arnold dropped the two books in his hand. He looked behind him, so focused on the light of his own lamp he hadn't realized the sun had come up. "I knew when you weren't in your room you had to be here, but what on earth are you doing?"

He told him, not of everything, of the thief or his own incompetence. But his night with Lila, their mutual desperation to be wed. Her illness. He rambled for a good half an hour, before Eduardo stood up with a deep sigh, crossed the room, and shut the door.

"What are you…?" Arnold asked, moving to follow him.

"I prayed that you wouldn't have a time where we'd see this day." Eduardo told him solemnly, grabbing his face gently. Arnold stared into the lines of his closest confidant, grabbing his hand on his cheek, rubbing his thumb soothingly across it. Eduardo sighed, dropping his face.

"Your parents weren't just royalty, Arnold. They were explorers." He explained quietly, straightening the journals on his father's shelf meticulously. His heart caught in his throat. "They were foolish." They were arranged in a specific order, delicately put in place. Eduardo precured a book from his jacket pocket, smaller than the rest, bound in leather, and set it into it's spot on the shelf. Arnold gasped. Eduardo managed to take the books, and shove them back into the shelf mechanically, as if the shelf were always designed to do so. From around his neck he procured a key, which he placed in the bottom of the shelf, and then lifted up. "They were the smartest people I have ever known." Eduardo turned back to him with a grin. The bookshelf seemed to just open, and it was what Arnold was waiting for, for years there. Bright light came through, and he hurried up to the shelf, with wonder, with his heart racing.

Arnold felt a hand on his chest before he could rush down, into the light, into whatever his parent's left for him. "I'll tell you right now," Eduardo warned carefully, and Arnold took the time to step back, to listen to his friend carefully, "I know...I know of a way to save your girl." He took a deep breath. "But you'd need a thief."

His mouth dried out. "I know of one." He replied carefully. The hand dropped from his chest, allowing him entrance to the mysterious place, the source of light. He flipped around quickly, looking back at the library, back at Eduardo. "But how do you _catch_ a thief?"

Eduardo laughed.


End file.
